Silent Schooner
by CrazyFangirl1776
Summary: Lafayette finally meets the girl he's liked for a long time. It's seemingly perfect. Except for one thing. She writes and doesn't speak. He speaks and doesn't write. A Lafayette/Peggy one-shot that people apparently wanted more of, so now it's a story. Laf's POV is the normal text. His thoughts and spoken French are italicized. Peggy's POV is all the poetry.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hamilton at all and give all credit to the amazing Lin-Manuel Miranda. Star Wars as a whole, including the reference, belongs to George Lucas. The story and poetry are entirely my doing, but I got the style idea from _The Memory of Things_ by Gae Polisner.**

The looming brick building causes a nostalgic pain to resonate in my chest. It reminds me of home, down to the white marble of the steps that are everywhere in France, and the students that, unlike me, are flying up the steps to the open doors of the school. Some are walking slowly, chatting with friends with wild hand gestures. Others ascend quickly, taking the steps two at a time.

I swallow hard. _Nothing like a healthy dose of anxiety to jump-start your first day back._

 _ **I don't have to talk to people, which is nice.**_

 _ **They don't talk to me**_

 _ **anyway.**_

 _ **I take the steps**_

 _ **on my toes**_

 _ **two at a time, as usual.**_

 _ **Just another face in the crowd.**_

 _ **Unseen and**_

 _ **invisible.**_

 _ **A chiming minnow in the silent sea.**_

I exhale deeply and push back my shoulders, rising to my full 6'3 frame. Then I start up the steps, skipping as many as my long legs will allow until I reach the doors and slip inside.

 _ **I turn the ocean on, my face set.**_

 _ **The world crashes into**_

 _ **my ears.**_

 _ **Perfectly**_

 _ **normal.**_

 _ **Except the chiming.**_

 _ **Everyone is**_

 _ **swimming inside.**_

 _ **I glide;**_

 _ **swim in after them.**_

 _ **One unit**_

 _ **among many.**_

 _ **Back**_

 _ **to the**_

 _ **revolution.**_

My school is beautiful. Sunlight filters through the glassy ceiling, bouncing off the shiny tile floors. Giant banners hang from the rafters, displaying pictures of a navy blue tricorn hat above the words _Go Revolutionaries!_

 _"Revolution,"_ I murmur subconsciously to myself. _"Revolution."_ I say the word slowly, sounding out each individual syllable. _"Reeehh-vohhhh-LOOO-"_

" _Ahem_."

I jump, my attention refocused ahead of me.

A girl stands there, hands on her hips in a wide stance. Chocolate-toned and curly-haired, she gives off an air of superiority.

"You look lost."

I sigh. "Angelica, I'm _fine_." I try to push past her, but she steps in front of me.

"No, you're lost, french fry," she repeats boldly (Um… french fry? She never calls me that). She grabs my arm and turns around. "Principal's office to the left, music hall down that way, straight ahead and to the right is the cafeteria. Classes are over there in that hallway." All of this is accompanied by wild hand gestures in various directions. "Got it?"

"I know where-"

Angelica cuts me off and leans forward "Look, I haven't helped anyone today yet, and I want to at least make it look like I'm doing my job," she says in a low voice. "So just _pretend_ like you're clueless."

I nod in fake agreement.

Angelica steps back, smoothing out her salmon-colored (or possibly peach-colored, I can never tell the difference) t-shirt. She winks. " _Au revoir_ , french fry."

Then she disappears into the crowd.

 _ **My sister's**_

 _ **there.**_

 _ **A ferry guiding the new boats.**_

 _ **She**_

 _ **lunges for someone in the waves.**_

 _ **They probably**_

 _ **don't**_

 _ **need help.**_

 _ **I know I don't.**_

 _ **My chiming helps.**_

 _ **I find my class**_

 _ **easily.**_

"William Kruz?"

"Here."

"Helen Lacks?"

"Here."

The teacher, a short, skinny woman with ash blonde hair, scrunches up her face in confusion.

 _Oh, no, here it comes_. I brace myself.

"Marie Jo-sef Paul Yi-vez Ro-shay Gil-bert du Mot-ee-air, Mar-keys de Laf-ai-ette."

I grimace. She butchered _eight_ out of my nine names, many of which I'm surprised to even hear on the attendance sheet. An all-time low.

"Just Lafayette is alright, _madamoiselle_."

The woman glances up. "I see, Mr. Laf-ai-ette."

 ** _The teacher says it_**

 ** _completely wrong._**

 ** _He's French,_**

 ** _I know that much._**

 ** _We've only crossed_**

 ** _paths_**

 ** _in the_**

 ** _sea._**

 ** _Without looking from my webs and whorls,_**

 ** _I know he's_**

 ** _grimacing._**

 ** _A schooner creaking_**

 ** _over chiming_**

 ** _deafening waters._**

 _ **"**_ Just Lafayette is alright, _mademoiselle_ _._ ** _"_**

 ** _A beautiful, graceful_**

 ** _mahogany_**

 ** _schooner._**

She moves on. "John Laurens?"

 _Yes!_

"Here," says the boy in front of me. He too, has an accent, though less pronounced than my own. He's lucky in that way.

I lean forward and tap his shoulder.

John jumps and turns around. "Wha...?"

I put my chin in my palm. " _Bonjour, mon ami_."

Laurens smiles, his newly-braces-deprived white teeth bright in contrast to his tanned skin. " Hey, Laf. Thank god you're here, I was about ready to jump out the window."

I look around. "Um… there's no windows in here."

John does that snap-and-point-at-someone thing. " _Exactly_." He raises an eyebrow at me. "Representing?"

I look down at my French flag striped t-shirt and grin in response. "Take a guess, _mon ami_."

"Gee, it can't be France," Laurens banters, smirking. "It's gotta be Russia. Or maybe Poland, I don't know. They're all the same colors anyway." He sticks his hand out with American frankness. "You can't be more obvious."

"Don't even try me," I say devilishly, wiggling my eyebrows. We both laugh loudly, the sound carrying throughout the room.

 ** _I hear their laughter through spirals and squares._**

 ** _I know Laurens well._**

 ** _My sister's got_**

 ** _his best friend_**

 ** _wrapped_**

 ** _around her finger._**

 ** _He's a_**

 ** _fairly_**

 ** _good guy. People like him._**

 ** _"_** Margarita Van Renessaeler Schuyler? ** _"_**

 ** _Just Peggy._**

 ** _I raise my hand._**

 _ **"**_ This says you go by Peggy? ** _"_**

 _ **A nod.**_

 ** _"_** Very well. ** _"_**

 _ **Lafayette considers him a friend.**_

 ** _I know_**

 _ **Alex does.**_

 _ **I turn the ocean off.**_

 _ **The sea**_

 _ **calms.**_

 _ **The schooner's creaking vanishes.**_

 _ **My chiming remains.**_

Laurens' hazel eyes twinkle under the fluorescent lights. "You're still sticking with being a marquis?" He pronounces "marquis" mar-kiss.

I roll my eyes. "Hardly. What do I use it, anyway?"

 _Damn you, French grammar_.

Laurens is about to respond but is cut off by the teacher. "Now for the rest of the period, I want you to turn to the person next to you and shake their hand," she squawks, "And tell them some things about yourself. Go!"

I blink. _What the_ …

I turn sideways in my seat. " _Desoleé,_ do you know what's going…"

I trail off. The girl I turned to is staring at a yellow spiral notebook in front of her, doodling with intense focus. She didn't even acknowledge me.

A fluttering feeling fills my stomach.

I know this girl, all too well.

Well, I've known her since eighth grade.

Okay, _fine_.

I've seen her around, anyway.

I've _wanted_ to know her since eighth grade, but that's impossible.

Mainly because:

a) She's a Schuyler, which means her family is rolling in money and would dismiss me as a simpleton, marquis or not,

b) I don't know her name, and

c) Neither Angelica nor her other sister, Eliza will tell me what it is because they're super protective of her.

And, as I'm now just realizing:

d) I wasn't paying attention to the roll call, so I can't even _guess_ what her name is.

Nevertheless, I'm royally screwed.

No pun intended.

Anyway.

Her hair is golden-brown and wild with curls, pulled back in a ponytail. Her glasses, thick-framed and black, are resting ever so slightly on the peak of her ski-jump nose. I resist the strong urge to push them back up for her.

"Hello?" I dare to speak louder this time. No response.

Huh.

 _ **Triangles,**_

 _ **trapezoids,**_

 _ **triangles,**_

 _ **trapezoids,**_

 _ **triangles,**_

 _ **trapezoids,**_

 _ **triangles,**_

 _ **trapezoids,**_

 _ **triangles,**_

 _ **trapezoids,**_

 _ **triangles,**_

 _ **trapezoids**_.

I tap her shoulder. The girl jumps and turns to face me, eyebrows raised expectantly.

I'm taken off-guard by her eyes. I can't decide what color they are. Liquid copper, darker around the pupils, with the smallest dots of mint green scattered vaguely throughout. They remind me of the Statue of Liberty. She wears a black sweatshirt with the words "A LONG, LONG TIME AGO" printed on it in a familiar, slanting yellow font. _She's a Star Wars fan?_

Something in front of my face brings me back to reality: The girl's hand, snapping my attention back to her. She points angrily at the bridge of her glasses. _My eyes are up_ here.

 _ **He tapped my**_

 _ **shoulder.**_

 _ **Why.**_

 _ **Does he**_

 _ **want something?**_

 _ **I**_

 _ **don't want**_

 _ **his**_

 _ **staring.**_

 _ **Not now.**_

 _ **I turn the ocean on.**_

 _ **The chiming doesn't relent.**_

"Oh, sorry," I say quickly. "It's just-" I move my finger up and down, gesturing to her clothing- "I like your sweatshirt."

She raises an eyebrow and tugs at the fabric. _This?_

I nod.

She touches her cheek to indicate a blush- it doesn't show on her honeyed skin- and smiles. _Thank you._ She turns around completely to face me and crosses her arms. Printed on the sleeves are the words "IN A GALAXY" and "FAR, FAR AWAY".

I laugh. "That's really cool."

The girl does the smiling-down-tucking-hair-behind-her-ear thing that a lot of girls do when they try to flirt with me. I can't remember at what point in my life I started hating the gesture, but made by her, it's cute.

 _Everything_ about her is cute.

 _ **He likes Star Wars.**_

 _ **That's**_

 _ **at least**_

 _ **one thing we have**_

 _ **in common.**_

 _ **Come**_

 _ **to**_

 _ **the**_

 _ **dark**_

 _ **side,**_

 _ **schooner.**_

 ** _I_**

 _ **have**_

 _ **cookies.**_

The bell rings, scaring us both. She moves in a graceful sweep, sliding the notebook into her bag and closing it with a swoop. I do the same, though less gracefully. We stand up in unison.

 _Aren't we supposed to shake hands?_

 _No, screw that._

 _Let's be bold, shall we?_

I offer the girl my hand, palm up. She takes it, and I smile and raise it to my lips, brushing them against the back of her hand. "It is an honor, _mademoiselle_."

 ** _He_**

 ** _kisses_**

 ** _my hand._**

 ** _He has_**

 ** _the elegance_**

 ** _of a_**

 ** _swan._**

 ** _I feel a warm_**

 ** _tingling._**

 ** _The sea tosses in_**

 ** _slow motion. The warmth_**

 ** _embraces me._**

 ** _I turn the ocean turn off._**

 ** _My chimes are silent._**

She tilts her head elegantly, lips parted in a surprised, blushing smile. _It is mine too, monsieur._

Before I know it, she lets go of my hand and vanishes into the crowd.

I stare after her, suddenly aware of something on my palm. I look down.

There, lying in my open hand, is a piece of notebook paper, folded in quarters. I unfold it.

My jaw drops.

It's a drawing.

An ocean, clear and turquoise blue. Stretching far beyond the confinements of the page.

A boat, vast and dark against the dying sunset.

Birds, drawn as small m's in the sky.

All patterned and geometric and exploding with rich color.

A looping signature in the bottom right hand corner.

And below that, a note scrawled in black pen.

 ** _Margarita "Peggy" Schuyler_**

 ** _Semi-professional Artist and Nerd_**

 ** _Sorry for ignoring you, it's not intentional._**

 ** _I was born deaf and suffer from constant tinnitus, despite my hearing aids. They're small, you can't see them._**

 ** _Call me sometime, schooner._**

 ** _(286)-267-3449_**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hamilton, that's Lin's stuff. Please read the author's note at the end.**

 _ **Lunch comes as a relief.**_

 _ **My mind stops**_

 _ **spinning,**_

 _ **I can**_

 _ **finally think.**_

 _ **I drew that sea**_

 _ **for him.**_

 _ **I think**_

 _ **it was**_

 _ **spur of**_

 _ **the moment.**_

 _ **I hope**_

 _ **he doesn't call.**_

 _ **Does that**_

 _ **make me a**_

 _ **bad person?**_

 _ **Not really.**_

 _ **My ocean goes on.**_

 _ **Life is deafening.**_

"So she left that in your hand," Hercules says as we leave the lunch lines (Me with _le croque monsieur avec les frites_ and him with a tray full of pasta), "after you… kissed hers."

I sigh. " _Oui, oui, mon ami_. We are past that part."

Herc smiles gently. "Hey, that rhymes."

I throw a fake glare at his sauce covered ziti so I don't have to meet his eyes. Herc has this... _smile_ or something that makes anyone blush for no reason. He does it to everyone. Including me.

"And this is who, again?"

"Well, I don't have the note with me right now, pear see…"

Herc laughs. "You mean, _per se_."

I groan. "Does it matter? My point is, I forget her name. It's too long, anyway."

Herc raises an eyebrow skeptically. "Mmmm."

 _ **I wonder if he's**_

 _ **kept it.**_

 _ **It was just**_

 _ **a**_

 _ **rough**_

 _ **treasure map sketch.**_

 _ **I can do better.**_

 _ **Seas**_

 _ **are my**_

 _ **favorites**_

 _ **to draw.**_

 _ **All those**_

 _ **loops**_

 _ **and loops**_

 _ **and**_

 _ **loops.**_

We reach our table by the windows. John and Alex are already there, clearly arguing about something. Again.

"What now, Ham?" Herc asks routinely.

Alex lifts his gaze from the enormous textbook in front of him. "Do you know sailing terms well, Mulligan?"

"Um…"

"I do," I offer. "What's the problem?"

John rolls his eyes. "Hamilton seems to think that port is the right side of a boat."

"Because it is!" Alex says, irritated. He runs his fingers through his dark hair and sighs.

"Um… _desole, mon ami_. Port is the _left_ side of the boat."

Alex looks at me from beneath his fingers. "Really?"

I nod.

Alex sighs again. "I need to study more." He and reaches into his pocket and pulls out a dollar. "Do I have to?"

John smirks. "I'll take _that_!"

 _ **Cheese and ham sandwiches.**_

 _ **Cheesus.**_

 _ **I**_

 _ **don't know**_

 _ **how people**_

 _ **can stand them.**_

 _ **Of all**_

 _ **the things**_

 _ **to go with**_

 _ **cheese.**_

 _ **Why ham?**_

 _ **I see Eliza in the crowd**_

 _ **like a lighthouse.**_

 _ ** _ **A**_**_

 _ ** _ **safe point.**_**_

 _ **She waves.**_

 _ **"**_ Peggy!

Over here! _ **"**_

Alex's eyes darken. "You okay, Laf? You seem out of it."

John grins. "He met a _girl_ "- he drags out the word mockingly- "in homeroom this morning."

Alex smirks. " _Really_. Who?"

"Eliza's sister," I say, taking a bite out of my sandwich. It's disgusting. _Mon dieu_. "What kind of…"

"Angelica?" Herc guesses. "But you already know her. Besides, doesn't she always rant about how"- He snaps in imitation of Angelica- " _'She don't need no man_ '?"

John snorts.

"No, not Angelica. The other one. Her name sounds like a drink."

"Ohhhhh," Alex says. "You mean Peggy."

Peggy. So that's her name.

Cute.

 _ **"**_ So **." Eliza nudges me.**

 **"Meet any cute guys?"**

 **I sigh. "Yes.**

 **One."**

 **Squeals.**

 **Lots of them.**

 _ **Like I need more high pitched noises.**_

 _ **"**_ Who? Maybe I know him. ** _"_**

 ** _"I don't remember. He has a lot of names."_**

 _ **"**_ What's his nationality? _ **"**_

 _ **"French, maybe."**_

 _ **That**_

 _ **moment**_

 _ **of dawning**_

 _ **comprehension.**_

 _ **"**_ Ohhhhhh. You mean Lafayette. _ **"**_

 _ **Lafayette.**_

 _ **So that's his name.**_

 _ **It's beautiful.**_

Alex stands abruptly, his eyes going from charcoal brown (Charcoal brown. I think that's a thing) to liquid chocolate in a second.

"Alex! Right here!"

Eliza. Of course. Only she can do that to Alex.

Well, her and sometimes John.

Alex waves back and sits, smiling smugly at me.

"What?"

Alex tilts his head. "Nothing. We're going to the library in a few. Herc too."

I frown. "Without me?"

"I think you'll want to stay." He raises his eyebrows passively. "Eliza's bringing her sister."

 _ **My sister drags me behind her.**_

 _ **"**_ You have to meet him, Peg. He's

such a great guy _ **."**_

 _ **No.**_

 _ **Nonononono**_

 _ **nononono.**_

 _ **Not**_

 _ **happening.**_

 _ **"Eliza-"**_

 _ **"**_ Alex! Right here _ **!"**_

 _ **"Eliza."**_

 _ **She's jet-skiing**_

 _ **through the crowd.**_

 _ **My chimes fill in like**_

 _ **unwanted sound effects.**_

 _ **"Eliza, stop."**_

 _ **Finally.**_

 _ **"**_ Peg _ **."**_

 _ **She sounds**_

 _ **defeated.**_

 _ **"**_ Please _ **."**_

 _ **She grabs my hands.**_

 _ **Hers are silky and**_

 _ **smooth.**_

 _ **"**_ Promise me this. Let me be the one

to make you happy today _ **."**_

 _ **Let me be the one**_

 _ **to make you happy today.**_

 _ **Promise me.**_

 _ **I promise.**_

 _ **A nod.**_

 _ **She smiles.**_

 _ **Tucks a curl**_

 _ **behind my ear.**_

 _ **I take a deep breath.**_

 _ **I don't exhale until we get there.**_

 _Sacrebleusacrebleusacre…_

I am _not_ prepared for this.

" _Do I have anything on my face? Clothes? Do I look okay? I'm not seeing her unless I look decent. Oh god, am I being dramatic again? Probably. Do I sound okay? Is my accent too.._."

I trail off. Herc's eyes are as wide as teacups. "Yeahhhcan'thelpyou."

Alex slams his hand down over my hand. I yelp. " _Mère de Dieu!"_

" _Laf_." Alex sounds impatient. "Stop hitting the table, you're shaking it. And quit panicking. You. Are. Fine."

I toss him a scowl. "I am not panicking."

Herc sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "You were rambling in rapid-fire French."

 _Oh._

"Betsey!" Alex embraces his girlfriend tenderly. She responds in kind, kissing his cheeks in a very French way. She rests her head on his shoulder, and a lock of black coffee-colored hair falls over her eye.

It's so perfect, the way she and Alex fit together.

Him toned brown, sturdy and reliable and built to withstand.

Her in hues of porcelain and ebony, all lean curves and soft edges.

Together, they're a swirled cappuccino, in all possible shades of coffee and caramel.

And speaking of caramel…

 _ **She embraces Alex fully.**_

 _ **With a gentleness**_

 _ **I can't even fathom.**_

 _ **My eyes jump to the table**_

 _ **occupants.**_

 _ **It's him.**_

 _ **Jesus,**_

 _ **he's even handsomer**_

 _ **than I remember.**_

 _ **Flawless mahogany skin.**_

 _ **Curly black hair**_

 _ **tucked in a ponytail.**_

 _ **Eyes fringed by long lashes**_

 _ **like picture frames.**_

 _ **And endlessly tapping fingers- a steady pattern,**_

 _ **like the chimes.**_

 _ **His focus is on my sister.**_

 _ **Not a direct stare,**_

 _ **more of a gentle expression.**_

 _ **His eyes catch mine.**_

 _ **Now he stares.**_

"Lafayette!"

I start and break eye contact with the gi- excuse me. Peggy. "What?"

John rolls his eyes. "God, Laf. Quit starin' like a creep or somethin'." He's irritated- the more so, the more he drawls.

She- _Peggy_ , I have to get used to her name- breaks away from behind her sister and floats toward us. It's like her boots don't actually touch the ground. Her eyes stay on John, determined not to make another awkward moment.

Like I need more of those.

 _ **Don't think about it.**_

 _ **Don't think about it.**_

 _ **You**_

 _ **can**_

 _ **do**_

 _ **this.**_

 _ **You know John.**_

 _ **Start small.**_

 _ **Ocean, rise.**_

 _ **If you can hear**_

 _ **your own breathing,**_

 _ **calm down.**_

 _ **You're going to be okay.**_

 _ **My sister leaves with Alex and his friend.**_

 _ **I'm on my own.**_

"Peggy, hey." John gives Peggy a friendly side-hug. She relaxes her shoulders understably, John gives great hu-

"Hi, Laurens."

Her voice.

It's like meringue, both crisp and silky.

 _Mon dieu._

She could start wars.

John lets go. "I'm getting food." He winks at me knowingly and jogs off (John never walks).

I'm on my own.

Peggy sits next to his empty seat, across from me. She runs a hand behind her ear, tucking back… actually, something's off about the gesture. Something small and round comes off in her hand.

 _Right._

 _Hearing aids_.

She was right in her note. I didn't even notice.

I wait until she adjusts something on the device and puts it back on before I start talking.

"So," I begin. "Peggy, right?"

 _ **His voice.**_

 _ **Jesus**_

 _ **It's-**_

 _ **He would make a poet weep.**_

 _ **His accent**_

 _ **rolls through waves of words**_

 _ **rising and falling**_

 _ **steadily.**_

 _ **"**_ Um _ **."**_

 _ **He tilts his head**_

 _ **curiously.**_

 _ **"**_ Can you hear me? _ **"**_

 _ **Yes, I can hear you.**_

 _ **I can't talk to you.**_

 _ **"Oh! Um- sorry, I- oh God."**_

 _ **That worked.**_

 _ **I promise.**_

 _ **I'm s-m-r-t.**_

Awkward loves company.

This probably can't get any worse than awkward, anyway.

I'll start small, considering that we kind of already know each other.

...

Um.

How do these greetings typically go in America again? What's the friendly-to-flirting ratio?

All the nerve I had earlier has clearly abandoned me.

"So, in case you don't know, I'm-"

"Lafayette." She pushes her glasses up. "Right?"

That worked.

"Yes," I say. "That-that is my name."

She snorts.

 _Internal screaming in three..._

"Um- would you mind, if we just-"

Everything she says comes out like a snap. Clear, clipped, enunciated carefully and a little slowly. No dot-dot-dot's for this girl.

"Can we write instead?"

Straight to the point. Boom.

"Write?"

She nods, and her brows knit together. "Do you mind? Speaking gets tiring, and- you probably don't know sign language. I have a notebook we could use."

My cheeks suddenly burn.

 _ **My mind joins my ears**_

 _ **in the chimes.**_

 _ **Ripples.**_

 _ **Was I too**_

 _ **direct?**_

 _ **Oh no.**_

 _ **What if he can't write?**_

 _ **English writing is hard,**_

 _ **after all.**_

 _ **He probably**_

 _ **types his notes.**_

 _ **Wait.**_

 _ **That's stupid.**_

 _ **Of course he can**_

 _ **write.**_

 _ **Right?**_

I have trouble writing in English sometimes.

That's not a foreigner stereotype. It's just... _hard_.

I'm also not dyslexic. I can spell fine. I can write and read. It's just the process of translating words from my French-driven mind into English, then putting that English on _paper_.

Normally I have my laptop with me, so I can type class notes. Packet's don't bother me, they're usually short answers.  
But written essays? Poetry assignments? Those stupid "What This Means to Me" letters?

Not up my alley.

The last time I hand-wrote something, let alone a whole conversation with a girl I like… "

Hey, Laf! C'mere!"

I barely hear myself. " _Non, c'est bon_." Then, "Give me a sec!"

She laughs, softly. "Okay. I'm turning these off."

 _ **The ocean goes off.**_

 _ **Silence is golden.**_

 _ **No crashing waves.**_

 _ **No ripples.**_

 _ **No creaks.**_

 _ **No jetskis.**_

 _ **I open my bag**_

 _ **and grab the notebook**_

 _ **and a pen.**_

 _ **Flip to a**_

 _ **new**_

 _ **page.**_

 _ **Push it toward him.**_

 _ **Wait.**_

 _ **He stares at it,**_

 _ **eyes lost.**_

 _ **I love that**_

 _ **his emotions**_

 _ **are all**_

 _ **eyes.**_

 _ **He combs a hand through his hair.**_

 _ **Curls escape the tight bun.**_

 _ **Pen goes to paper**_

 _ **in neat loops and lines.**_

 _ **Wait.**_

 _ **Loops?**_

I've already decided.

Screw writing.

My hand does the work for me.

Lines tick across the page.

Add a circle there.

Little mittens.

A few dots there

A bubble in that direction.

I know what I'm drawing without thinking about it.

"Laf, come on!"

"Coming!"

 _ **I watch him concentrate**_

 _ **on whatever he's**_

 _ **drawing.**_

 _ **He's left handed**_

 _ **when he draws,**_

 _ **right handed**_

 _ **when he writes.**_

 _ **Weird.**_

 _ **Eventually he slides the**_

 _ **notebook**_

 _ **back toward me.**_

 _ **Lets out a sigh.**_

 _ **"**_ LAF! _ **"**_

 _ **He starts and rolls his eyes.**_

 _ **Picks up his backpack.**_

 _ **Please don't leave.**_

 _ **I wave cheerfully.**_

 _ **He winks.**_

 _ **Walks away.**_

 _ **He left his sandwich.**_

 _ **I flip the book around.**_

 _ **Caricatures.**_

 _ **Two little people**_

 _ **bordering on stick figures**_

 _ **but not quite there.**_

 _ **One has looped hair and glasses.**_

 _ **Obviously me.**_

 _ **A speech bubble is next to**_

 _ **tiny Peggy.**_

 _ **(Call me sometime, schooner!)**_

 _ **The other has a bun and a tiny goatee**_

 _ **and a speech bubble.**_

 _ **(I'll text you instead.)**_

 **Author's Note: Peggy is not selectively mute. That's too overused for me. I did some research on deafness and hearing aids. The hearing aids she wears are typical wrap-arounds, and they have adjustable volume. She prefers to take them off for complete silence. Peggy can't lipread. She knows ASL, but doesn't commonly use it. She, like many deaf people, prefers being deaf, and finds it easier to live in silence. Her tinnitus is a low ringing in both ears, and it is more white noise than the typical high-pitched sound used in movies. Peggy speaks well and is conscious of pronouncing her words clearly, but she prefers not speaking simply because it gets tiring for her after long periods of time.  
Also, Laf got a cheese and ham sandwich with fries.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Hamilton ain't mine, blah blah blah. Also, before people go all "No text format fics" on me: I KNOW. I wrote the text chat to be short and it is literally seventy-four words long. This entry isn't "chat/script format based because they had a few words of texting. I have read the guidelines.** **Also, sorry this chapter is shorter and kind of crappy. I've been really sick for the past few weeks. The next chapter will be mostly Peggy.**

 _Envoyé à 9:07 p.m. EST_

Laf: Salut?

Laf: Péggy?

Peggy: Who is this?

Laf: Français frite

Peggy: Oh

Peggy: Hey I don't speak French, remember?

Laf: Oh mon

Peggy: And why'd you wait so long? It's 9:07.

Laf: Desole je

Laf: Attend

Laf: WAIT

Peggy: Jeez, Laf.

Laf: SORRY, MY KÉYBÔARD ÎS IN FRÉNÇH

Peggy: Lol. Should I just facetime you?

Laf: SURÉ

Peggy: Okay, hold on.

Peggy _voudrait FaceTime. Accepter_?

"Hello?"

I jump and almost drop my phone on my face. "Peggy?"

A pair of eyes stare back at me. "Yeah? Is this working?"

She's _way_ too loud. "You're good. Back up a bit."

The eyes zoom out as a caramel-colored face fills the screen. "Better?"

"Much better." I smile, and she smiles back. "Why did you wait so long?"

"Catnap." I yawn and extend my arms in a joint-popping stretch. "It's been a long week. I deserved it."

"Ah."

Awkward.

" _Soooooooo_ …" We both say it at the exact same time.

So awkward.

Peggy moans and buries her fingers in her hair, which is out of the ponytail. It falls past her shoulders in waves and looks a lot darker than I remember, possibly due to the absence of fluorescent lighting. "This is _so_ awkward."

I laugh, a little too loudly. "I was thinking the exact same thing."

"Here, before it gets worse." She stands and picks up her phone. I notice the silver earbuds she's wearing- probably made for her deafness- before the camera freezes. "I'm showing you my room."

 _Wait, what?_

"Oh, you don't ha-I uh, just- I mean if you don't- you have to," I stammer.

Because I'm great at socially interacting with pretty deaf girls.

Translation: We are _not_ at the stage of me seeing her room.

Make of that what you will.

"Too late." She focuses in on a shaggy black rug. "Ta-da!"

In one swoop she pans up, and the camera blurs out. Then it clears up, and my jaw hits the floor.

The entire room, from walls to floor, is black-and-gold-and-black-and-gold-and-black-and-gold. Everything about it screams "NERD." The walls are painted flat-out black, but they're covered in posters. Not just new posters either- she zooms in on a massive wrinkled, signed, and framed _Star Wars_ poster hanging over her nightstand, and again on a torn _Monty Python_ poster over her desk. Hanging from the beams of her four-poster bed are playbills, some duct taped together haphazardly. A giant black bookshelf rests on the opposite side, where books, organized by spine color, are wedged in like tetris blocks. Next to the shelf, painted on the wall, is a quote that I can't make out. The view to show me her ceiling, which is littered with glow-in-the-dark stars. Her chandelier is, no joke, modeled after the Death Star.

"You like?" Peggy's voice startles me.

" _Mon dieu_." I nod my head vigorously before I realize she can't see me. "You really are a nerd."

"My sisters tease me for it," she says in an amused tone. "They don't appreciate my fandoms with the same…"

"Intensity?" I guess.

"Pretty much."

I snicker. It's amazing how easy she is to talk to.

Now, anyway. Lunch was a disaster.

 _To the point where you need a whole weekend to recover, plus shame points. _You awkward, awkward turtle.__

No, it's John who draws the turtles. Hey, maybe I can get him to draw me as a turtle-

"What's the…"

 _Come on, brain. Don't blank out on me now_. "Wall… thing. Above your bed, what does that say?"

She doesn't even pause. "'It does not do to dwell on dreams, Harry, and forget to live.' Albus Dumbledore."

 _Wow_.

"Wow. I think you need a certified license to be this level of nerd."

She makes a noise in the back of her throat. "You should see me at Disney World."

"What about Disney World?"

"Well…"

 ** _Breathe_**.

 ** _Turn your ocean up to tsunami._**

 ** _Don't._**

 ** _Screw._**

 ** _This._**

 ** _Up._**

 _11:38 p.m. EST_

"...and then Alex gets these wide saucer eyes and looks up and the fan starts going at full speed spewing feathers and snow," I say, laughing over my words. "And John just looks at me and runs, and Herc and I go after him. And we run. As in, we _sprint_. We have feathers, fake snow, and those little odd shaped things that go in boxes all over us, and we're running down the street like crazy people. All the way back here. We did. Not. Stop."

The screen goes dark and I hear muffled laughter.

At least, I _think_ she's laughing. She could also be dying of asphyxiation.

I can hear her shrieking and clapping and trying to breathe at the same time, dissolving over and over into fits of hiccupping giggles.

When she calms down enough to talk, she picks up her phone again. "After that?"

"We came here, locked the door, and hid in my closet," I finish.

Peggy turns the camera back to me. Her face is flushed rosy pink. "Really? Let me see your room."

But then I have to get out of bed, and it's so warm...

My face probably says it all, because she smirks. She looks devilish, like a grown woman rather than a teenage girl. Sixteen? Seventeen? I think she's sixteen.

"You don't have to if you don't want to."

I shake my head again. "No, that's fine."

 _That's fine. You mean,_ it's _fine._

I sit up and scan my room quickly for any… _ahem_ , incriminating items.

Seems clean enough. I switch the views. " _Voila_."

My room is nice enough. It's probably the most decorated part of my apartment ( _Merci_ Martha and George, for still paying the bills for this place!). Alex, John, and Herc came over a few days after I moved in and helped me- and I use the term "help" loosely- paint the walls in red, white, and blue (for France, you patriots), and I got Eliza's… strong decisions on interior design, despite my protests.

So my bed is in the center of the wall, my desk is in the left corner, my closet has full-length red mirrors on the back, and every room has an Eiffel Tower shag rug or two, even though the apartment has wall-to-wall carpeting.

I made Eliza pay for the rugs, since a) She can afford it, and b) It was her idea to make my living space look like a single French mom's.

"Ooh la la," Peggy teases. "Very French."

"Extremely French," I agree.

"What's on the bookshelf?"

This girl and her books, I swear.

"Oh, just some textbooks and…"

"And comics?" Up in the corner, she smirks. "I promise I won't make fun of you."

 _And some comics I had as a kid that I still read now that you have full permission to make fun of me for because they're my old nostalgic French comics._

I swallow. "Well," I begin awkwardly. Of course, it's awkward. "When I was a kid, I had a bunch of comics."

I grab a random book from the shelf and show her.

"Ass-terr-eeks?"

I sigh. " _Astérix_. He's this goofy little viking man with his own French comic. He's got his own amusement park, too."

"Oh, like Mickey Mouse."

That makes me laugh for some reason. "Well, not really. Way to American-ize it, though."

She scoffs and rolls her eyes. "Look at me, so patriotic."

"But really," I continue. "It's more like… _Garfield_ or _DC_ or…"

"I get it." She yawns, then rubs her temple underneath the glasses. "Agh."

"Headache?"

"Yeah." She looks at the screen and grimaces at me. Well, me on camera. "There are times when I do well, and times when it gets tiring to talk. I practice speaking, but... "

"Oh, we can stop if you need it," I say quickly.

 _Wow, great job, Laf. That sounded_ sooo _friendly._

"No, it's fine." Peggy hisses through her teeth. "Places like school give me migraines when I get home. I don't even know why. Am I slurring?"

"No, you sound fine. Maybe it's all the loud- never mind." I keep forgetting.

She laughs, dryly. "It's fine, I'm not bitter about it."

"Really?"

"Nope." A small smile flitters across her face. "To be honest, I kindalikit." She slurs this time, on the last few syllables.

"You're tired," I say. To be honest, so am I.

"And I thought I-hus-hah-a-hunishun-or something," she says through a yawn.

I yawn too: They're contagious. I'm pretty tired too, actually."

Peggy pulls her eyes away from her screen. "With good reason. It's almost midnight."

"Well, then.I flutter my fingers in a wave. " _Bon huit, mon amie_."

The corners of her eyes crinkle as she gives me a tired smile and finger-flutters back.

FaceTime _fin._

 _11:58 p.m. EST._

 ** _Exhaustion_**

 ** _pretends to_**

 ** _hold you._**

 ** _It caresses_**

 ** _your_**

 ** _eyelids_**

 ** _numbs your_**

 ** _lips_**

 ** _kisses your_**

 ** _fingers_**

 ** _and_**

 ** _toes_**

 ** _tiptoes along your_**

 ** _muscles_**

 ** _Until you're too subdued to fight._**

 ** _Then_**

 ** _you_**

 ** _let_**

 ** _go._**


	4. Chapter 4

**My Christmas present, straight from your homegirl who understands that family parties are scary.** **Disclaimer: Hammy not mine. Neither is the Coldplay lyric from _Viva La Vida._**

~~~

 ** _Sleep isn't automatic._**

 ** _It always happens gradually_**

 ** _Deceiving_**

 ** _You don't even realize_**

 ** _Your mind is_**

 ** _s_**

 ** _h_**

 ** _h_**

 ** _t_**

 ** _t_**

 ** _i_**

 ** _n_**

 ** _g_**

 ** _d_**

 ** _o_**

 ** _w_**

 ** _n_**

 ** _Floating_**

 ** _Suspended in a land_**

 ** _Only you_**

 ** _Witness._**

 ** _Odd things happen in dreams._**

 ** _Blackness takes forms_**

 ** _Squeeze your eyes hard enough_**

 ** _And you can tick moving lines_**

 ** _In nothing._**

 ** _I embrace my mind's oddities._**

 ** _Steering my ship is a simple task_**

 ** _I have control over_**

 ** _The bright lines and spirals_**

 ** _Not everyone has such a vessel._**

 ** _REM is what non-dreamers call it._**

 ** _Storyless pictures form_**

 ** _Tales of confusion_**

 ** _Storms drawn on sails_**

 ** _Pulled in close against the wind._**

 ** _Those words meant to shock us into awe._**

 ** _Looking at something enough_**

 ** _Carves it into your mind_**

 ** _You see it while passing_**

 ** _The lower decks._**

 ** _They describe what we pretend to know._**

 ** _Flashes of silent movies_**

 ** _Even the mind-made waves_**

 ** _Crash without sound_**

 ** _Against the worn wood._**

 ** _But they lie._**

 ** _Patterns trail across my vision_**

 ** _In falsely elegant lines_**

 ** _Filling the sails beyond_**

 ** _Their capacity._**

 ** _I can't bame what my mind builds._**

 ** _Dizzy circles and_**

 ** _Drunk squares_**

 ** _Zooming in and out of frame_**

 ** _They trap me in a spinning hell._**

 ** _Some thoughts don't take form in words._**

 ** _Shapes without shape_**

 ** _Multiply and divide_**

 ** _They grow bigger and smaller_**

 ** _Yet they don't move at all._**

 ** _They create nightmares of show-and-tell._**

 ** _Vertigo without vertigo_**

 ** _Claws scratch at_**

 ** _already tousled sails_**

 ** _Masts crush in clinging spears._**

 ** _My dreams are soundless shipwrecks._**

 ** _I tear at the sails_**

 ** _Lips closed in unvoiced screams_**

 ** _Rain and cold break my skin_**

 ** _My hands grab splintered shards_**

 ** _Of broken wheels_**

 ** _My hands don't bleed_**

 ** _Yet I feel them bleeding_**

 ** _My lungs don't make a sound_**

 ** _Yet it aches as they cry out_**

 ** _Lightning flashes. My ship breaks apart. The sails rip completely of the fragmented masts._**

 ** _I open my eyes._**

 ** _Flash a flickering_**

 ** _S.O.S. into the_**

 ** _darkness._**

 ** _It fills as far_**

 ** _as my peripherals_**

 ** _pan across._**

 ** _my muscles ache_**

 ** _from being curled_**

 ** _up in a tight ball_**

 ** _for so long. My hands_**

 ** _sting. I can't glance_**

 ** _at them. My mind_**

 ** _won't_**

 ** _let me._**

 ** _You know the feeling_**

 ** _when you wake up_**

 ** _from a nightmare and_**

 ** _your mind shuts down_**

 ** _all of your nerves_**

 ** _and says "don't_**

 ** _move._**

 ** _Your demons will_**

 ** _come back."_**

 ** _You're awake._**

 ** _You're in reality._**

 ** _Your brain says_**

 ** _"Stay there. Or_**

 ** _it_**

 ** _will hurt you."_**

 ** _I reach for the_**

 ** _light by my bed,_**

 ** _I see my arm_**

 ** _stretching out._**

 ** _Nothing_**

 ** _stops_**

 ** _me, nothing hurts_**

 ** _in my vision._**

 ** _Reach and twist._**

 ** _Reach and twist._**

 ** _Reach, twist._**

 ** _Reach, twist._**

 ** _Reach, twist._**

 ** _Reach twist._**

 ** _Reachtwist_**

 ** _Reachwist_**

 ** _Reacwist_**

 ** _Reach_**

 ** _Click._**

 ** _Light._**

 ** _My arm falls. I glance at the palm. Red lines score the clammy surface. The skin is broken, but not bleeding._**

 ** _It hurts more that way._**

 ** _I sit up sharply. Better to get it over with. My hips ache from the jolt._**

 ** _I feel disgusting._**

 ** _Shivering I wrap my arms around my waist. The fabric of my t-shirt is damp sticking to my skin like a too-tight glove._**

 ** _My other palm throbs._**

 ** _I pull it away from the sweaty shirt. The same lines most this time, mark the skin. I stare at both palms. My eyes trace every wrinkle, every indent, every tick and callus. There's so many lines._ Too _many lines._**

 ** _Immediately I see snarling circles squares snapping at my eyes the lines jump out at me boring into my eyelids in jagged broken cracks_**

 **STOP.**

 **Please.**

 ** _I'm breathing hard. I feel my lips, my tongue, my teeth saying a silent, broken prayer, repeated over and over again._**

 ** _"no no no no no no no no no no no no no"_**

 ** _I taste salt, different from sweat. It trickles in a straight line, from the corners of my eyes to the corners of my mouth._**

 ** _Breathe, breathe, but not too fast._**

 ** _Control it._**

 ** _It's_**

 ** _not_**

 ** _real._**

 ** _Right?_**

 ** _I'm not sure_**

 ** _anymore._**

~~~

 _Z_

 _z_

 _z_

 _z_

" _I used to ruuuuuuule the worrrrld, seas would rise when I gave the word, now in the..."_

 _Womf_

 _Wha?_

" _Mmmmmmmgh_." I roll over and flop my hand around until it smacks my phone. I turn it over and wince, squinting my eyes shut against the brightness.

Someone's calling? This late?

I swipe _Accepter_ and immediately put down the phone, plunging me back into the relieving darkness.

" _Qu'est-ce?_ "

"Laf!" A lilting, high-pitched voice squeals from the speaker. " _Ça fait tellement_ _longtemps! Ça va?"_

I rub my eyes, trying to shake off the sleepiness. "Adrienne?"

" _Oui_!" My childhood friend squeals again.

I sigh loudly so she can hear me. " _Es-tu_ _sérieuse_ , Adri? _Maintenant_? _Il est_ -" I flip the screen again and check the time- " _deux_ _heures du matin_. _Exactement_."

"Oh." I picture her on the other end twirling a small black curl right behind her ear: A nervous tic she adopted from her mother.

" _Écoutez_ … _peux-tumerappeler_? _S'il_

 _tuplaît_?" God, I sound high.

She sighs dramatically. " _D'accord_. _Deux heures d'après-midi."_

I can't help but smile. That still leaves me at eight in the morning, even if she calls in the afternoon. " _Quatre_ _heures_ , Adri."

" _Trois heures_."

I can hear her smirking. "Fiiiiine," I moan in English. "Bye, Adri. _Je suis tout à vous."_

 _"Je suis tout à vous."_

She hangs up. I turn the phone off and roll... back...

over into...

my pil

z

z

~~~

 ** _Ssssh._**

 ** _Ssssssssssh._**

 ** _Surrp._**

 ** _Ah._**

 ** _Breathe. Breathe. Bre_**

 ** _Light touch._**

 ** _I screech and whirl around, hand swinging half an inch away from Angelica's nose._**

 _Peg?_

 ** _She looks exhausted, yet elegant in her peachy pajamas. My sister_** _never_ isn't _elegant._

 _You okay?_

 ** _I tap my ear and set the glass of water on ths counter._**

 ** _" Yes, I'm good."_**

 _" You're lying." **Her hand slides beneath her chin.**_

 ** _" No, I'm not."_**

 _" Yes, you are." **She crosses her arms stupidly, then unfolds them.** "You look-"_

 _ **She pauses-** "a-f-r-e-i-d. "_

 ** _I flare my hands open across my chest. " Afraid." _**

_**She copies the gesture, storing it in her memory.** "Afraid," **she repeats.** "Afraid." _

**_Afraid._**

 ** _That's all it amounts to._**

 ** _One simple word_**

 ** _a catch-all term for_**

 ** _nightmare._**

 ** _Nightmare doesn't even_**

 ** _get one word_**.

 ** _Bad dream_**

 ** _is the official title._**

 ** _How pitiful._**

 ** _Merciless hexagons gnashing sharp teeth-_**

 **NO.**

 ** _Angelica turns, muscles tensing until a hand in a fuzzy teal cuff reaches around the corner and flicks the light switch._**

 ** _The hallway floods over with warm white light. I catch Eliza's expression-a wince at the sudden brightness- before she rubs her eyes with the sleeve of her robe._**

 _What's going on? It's late._

 ** _She looks to Angelica for explanation. Whatever the latter says makes my sister's brow furrow._**

 _" What's wrong, P-e-g?"_

 ** _" I couldn't sleep."_**

 _ **Eliza's beautiful features soften.** "Bad dream again?"_

 ** _My eyes land on a blotchy ink stain lining the base of my palm, not making eye contact. I nod._**

 _" P-e-g, I think you need to see someone about these dreams you're tired," **Angelica says tiredly.**_

 _" Having," **Eliza corrects. She presses both hands into her chest, fingers pointed in towards herself.** "Are they more like dreams or h-a-l-l-u-c-i-n-a-t-i-o-m-s?" **She's always been better at it than Angelica. Her fingers move fast, accidentally switching**_ m _for_ n.

 ** _I swallow. " The second one." I don't feel like spelling out "hallucinations". "But I haven't had one for a long time."_**

 _" You should still see someone," **Angelica says firmly, crossing her arms as if the discussion is over.**_

 _She's not stable,_ ** _Eliza says through clenched teeth._**

 ** _No, wait. Three syllables._** **Un _stable._**

 _I never said she was unstable, **Angelica shoots back, glaring at Eliza. Both of them have a narrowed expression.**_

 ** _It's times like these when I'm reminded of my sisters' beauty._**

 ** _Angelica is all high cheekbones and long neck, regal features that match her lithe frame._**

 ** _Eliza has a cheerful, rosy face that could either be called "sweet" or "full", depending on the person saying it._**

 ** _I'm the shorter of the bunch, with neither Eliza's slender angles or Angelica's willowy form. I'm flat-out hourglass. No part of my body is even close to a straight line._**

 ** _Sharp pinch._**

 ** _I slap Angelica's hand away._**

 ** _What?_**

 _Neither of you listen. I'm going to sleep._

 _ **She looks irritated.** Night._

 ** _My sister walks off, hips swinging._**

 ** _Eliza rolls her eyes and yawns._** _" We should go back to sleep, also." **She steps over to the pantry and pulls a small bottle from the shelf. Opening it, she takes my hand gently and shakes a little pill into my palm.** "Here."_

 ** _I raise an eyebrow._**

 _" M-e-l-a-t-o-n-i-n."_

 ** _Right. I always wondered where she kept that stuff._**

 ** _I set the little tablet on my tongue and swallow a gulp of water. " Thanks."_**

 _ **Eliza nods.** "I'll turn off the lights. You go ahead."_

~~~

 ** _The motion lights at my door flicker when I shut it. Plopping down on my bed, I reach for my sketchbook and a charcoal pencil. I trace thick, smooth lines on the creamy pages._**

 ** _Three for a triangle, four to a square. Rounded, imperfect and unbroken circles._**

 ** _They say you should talk about your nightmares to erase them from your memory._**

 ** _But there's other ways to erase._**

 ** _Sleep isn't automatic._**

 ** _It always happens gradually_**

 ** _Comforting_**

 ** _You accept that_**

 ** _Your mind is_**

 ** _s_**

 ** _h_**

 ** _u_**

 ** _t_**

 ** _t_**

 ** _i_**

 ** _n_**

 ** _g_**

 ** _u_**

 ** _p_**

 ** _Floating..._**

~~~

 **Author's Note: Whew! I went through a lot of editing for this chapter, so I hope you liked it. It's based off of a real dream** **people have known as "the geometric nightmare" or "the infinity nightmare".**

 **Usually it is a shape of some sort growing or multiplying infinitely until it becomes overwhelmingly terrifying, sometimes shrinking down to an uncomfortable size. I had this dream a few days before I started to write the chapter and got inspired.**

 **The new format introduces underlined words, which represents ASL.**

 **Some words are misspelled or used out of context because the wrong sign is used (i.e. "Having/have" is signed as if pointing to your chest using all four fingers on both hands v.s. "Tired" which is signed by dragging your hands down on your chest while relaxing your shoulders).**

 **What is italicized by Peggy but not underlined is a spoken word that she is lip-reading. Keep it mind that she was previously sleeping and isn't wearing hearing aids. Unlike someone putting on glasses at night, hearing isn't a necessity.**

 **The French translated is:**

 **"Who is it?"**

" **Laf! It's been so long? How are you?"**

 **"Yes!"**

 **"Are you serious, Adri? Now? It's... two in the morning. Exactly."**

 **"Listen... can you call me back? Please?"**

 **"Okay. At two in the afternoon."**

 **"No... Four hours/4:00 p.m." (France time)**

 **"Three hours/3:00 p.m." (France time)**

 **"I am all yours."***

 **"I am all yours."***

 ** _*Those were her last words to Laf in real life. I made it a cute saying between close friends since being betrothed would mess up the plot._**

 **For anyone curious about the time difference from France: New York is around six to eight hours ahead, depending on location.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I threw a lot of references in here. I don't own any of Lin's stuff, or anything from Twenty One Pilots, Sherlock, or Green Day. There will be more action next chapter. I promise.**

 **Also thank you Ranger-Corpses for your reviews. It's nice to know _someone_ enjoys these.**

~~~

" _I_ ' _m walking down the line/ That divides me somewhere in_ -"

I sit up and stretch, my muscles relaxing and leaving me with the urge to flop back down into my pillows.

 _Accepter_.

"Morning, John."

By the way, the ringtone? His idea. John's really into Green Day.

"It's almost noon, Laf. Honestly."

I envision him rolling his eyes, with a bowl of peanut-butter oatmeal in one hand (I still don't know if that's some weird American thing or some weird John thing, though it's probably the latter). "Your fault, _mon ami_."

"Look, the fact that you need a wake-up call-"

 _Wake-up call._

 _Adri._

" _Merde_ ," I murmur to myself. "I have an excuse," I tell John. " _J'habite seul_. You're telling me Alex didn't wake _you_ up to remind you to wake _me_ up?"

Silence. "Damn." He sighs. "You doing anything today?"

"Nope." I reach for the doorknob and yelp as static pricks my finger. " _C'est le weekend_ and I'm doing _nothing_. I'll call you back later. I need to get dressed first."

~~~

 ** _Blink._**

 ** _Smack smack_**

 ** _Yelch_**

 ** _Ugh. Gross._**

 ** _I_ gotta _brush my teeth_**

 ** _Jesus._**

 ** _Unfortunately,_**

 ** _brain has stopped._**

 ** _Okay?_**

 ** _Yeah._**

 ** _Sure._**

 ** _Whatever._**

 ** _It's a routine move._**

 ** _Flop my hand around a few_**

 ** _times._**

 ** _There's one,_**

 ** _aaaaaaand there's two._**

 ** _Spinspinspinclick_.**

 ** _That one's good._**

 ** _Spinspinspinclick._**

 ** _And so is the other._**

 ** _I wiggle my toes and_**

 ** _flex my fingers._**

 ** _Stand up._**

 ** _The house is_**

silent.

 ** _Straight to the bathroom_**

 ** _to get that awful taste_**

 ** _of death_**

 ** _off my tongue._**

 ** _I look in the mirror._**

 ** _My hair is a mess._**

 ** _My eyes are dark with sleep._**

 ** _My lips are chapped,_**

 ** _My eyebrows are hazardous,_**

 ** _And my eyelids bear the weight of ten sleepless Peggy nights._**

 ** _Eh. Whatever._**

 ** _I turn on the faucet_**

 ** _SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH_**

 ** _"AEEEEE!"_**

 ** _I TURN OFF THE FAUCET and breathe._**

 ** _chhhhhhiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimmmmeee_**

 ** _Great._**

 ** _Now I know where the phrase_**

 ** _"rude awakening"_**

 ** _comes from._**

~~~

 _Crack_.

The egg hisses as it spreads into the pan. I brush a piece of cheese off the next egg before cracking that one too, dumping half a bag of mozzarella after it and scraping the eggs off the bottom of the skillet. In a separate pan bacon sizzles, even though I have more piled on a plate in the oven, which is keeping it warm.

Cooking is one of the few things I'm really good at, and one of the only things I have over my friends.

Alex said once that it's because I'm French, to which John responded by putting a finger under his nose and flouncing around shouting "HON HON HON BAGUETTES!"

To each their own, but I smacked Alex with a baguette.

I stand there stirring the eggs around for a minute, watching the cheese melt in gooey strings.

My phone on the counter buzzes.

 _Throw down the key_

Without putting down the spatula I crank open the kitchen window. The breeze from outside gives me goosebumps as I drop the key to the porch.

Yes, that's probably a good way to get robbed. No, I don't really care.

The door clicks in the foyer. "I'm starved!" Alex shouts. "What's cooking?"

"Do you come here without eating just to get food?"

Alex sits on the couch and waits. He always sits for some reason, never flops or lies down. "Pretty much."

I gesture to the eggs with a wave of the spatula. "You know this is my breakfast?"

"I know you're going to share."

My mouth waters as I slide the finished eggs on a plate and yank the oven door open. The bacon sits there with open promises.

 _Mon Dieu,_ I'm hungry.

"Not this time, _mon ami_. You can have a piece of bacon, but that's it. Go make some toast."

~~~

 ** _I_**

 ** _crank_**

 ** _down_**

 ** _the_**

 ** _ocean_**

 ** _and take a deep breath to calm myself down._**

 ** _Wait._**

 ** _*sniff*_**

 ** _Nothing else matters now and everyone better be out of my_ damn _way I am a fox and I am_ on the hunt _because THERE ARE CINNAMON ROLLS IN MY VICINITY AND I AM STARVING WITH INSATIABLE HUNGER SWEET JESUS THE LORD HAS COME BEARING GIFTS AND THEY ARE CINNAMONY AND SLATHERED IN ICING AND_**

"Morning, Peg!"

 ** _Eliza stands next to the oven holding a plate of cinnamon rolls._** ** _Her dark hair is pulled into a loose ponytail, strands hanging around her face._**

"Sleep okay?"

 ** _"GIMME THE ROLLS!"_**

 ** _Her eyes widen at the sound of my voice, which is scratchy from sleep._**

 ** _Usually I keep quiet in the mornings._**

"Oh _hell_ no. Angie?"

 ** _Angelica sashays into the kitchen_**. "Yeah?"

 ** _Eliza shoves the plate into my sister's hands._**

"Run."

~~~

"Herc's coming over," Alex informs me. "I texted him." He sighs. "I'm _bored_." He's lying on my feet upside down, arms crossed. Somehow, he's not uncomfortable.

"Maybe getting off me would be a good start." I look up from my phone and wiggle my toes for emphasis. "You don't have homework, or any essays, or anything to un-bore you?"

"That's not a word," he says.

"I don't really care. One of-"

"TWO BROS, CHILLIN' ON A SOFA!' Without warning, John flounces in dramatically and strikes a pose. "FIVE FEET APART CUZ-"

"We're not gay," I finish. "You say it every time. How'd you even-"

Alex sits up. "I left the door open," he mutters.

"How'd he even find parking? I barely have enough room for my car."

"He paralleled in front of your driveway."

"WHAT?"

"You didn't know that?" Alex scoffs. "All the time. I told him the truck's getting totaled eventually but he didn't listen. He's too cocky."

" _Fantastique_."

"If anything, he's straight every time."

"John's not straight."

Alex smacks my arm. "The _car_ , smart-ass."

"GOT ANY FOOD?!" John screams from the kitchen. I hear him yank open the fridge.

I swear…

"Go make some toast," Alex shouts back.

"And coffee," I add. Yeah, I know it's my apartment, but I'm not getting up. My feet are asleep anyway. "Didn't you already eat?"

"YOU'RE OUT OF ENGLISH MUFFINS!"

"I WASN'T AWARE I WAS YOUR MUFFIN MACHINE!" I shout back, realizing my mistake the moment the words leave my mouth.

Alex bursts out laughing. " _Muffin_ … _machine_ ," he gasps, holding his sides.

I roll my eyes and shove him off the couch. "My mind switched halfway between 'vending machine' and 'muffin dispenser'. _Pour l'amour de Dieu_ , stop laughing at me!"

~~~

 ** _My sister wheezes._**

"Peg, get off."

 ** _"VICTORY IS MINE!"_**

 ** _I shove a roll into my mouth._**

 ** _Oh._**

 ** _They're amazing._**

 ** _At least, compared to Dad's recipe._**

 ** _He makes them from scratch_**

 ** _and they're perfect._**

 ** _Man, we haven't had those in forever..._**

"Peggy."

 ** _I give Eliza a thumbs-up, my cheeks bulging. She snickers._**

"I have your approval?"

 ** _"Mmmmmmm-hmmmmf."_**

 ** _I don't even stop Angie when she takes a roll._**

"Peggy Schuyler, get _off_ me."

 ** _"Wha..."_**

 ** _I snap out of my cinnamony-rolling-hills-happy-place._**

 ** _"Sorry."_**

 ** _Angelica stays down for few seconds, breathing deeply. Then she gets up, picking carpet lint off her skinny jeans_**.

 ** _Only my sister wears skinny jeans in the morning._**

"Please don't ever tackle me at eleven a.m. for a plate of cinnamon rolls."

~~~

So now I have _two_ idiots to babysit.

Knock knock. "Laf?"

Scratch that. Three.

"Come in," I wheeze around Alex.

Herc pushes the door open tentatively, his gray beanie-d head poking around the corner. He's the only one of my friends who doesn't fling it open (cough cough, _John_ ).

He finds me on the couch and snorts. "Occupied?"

I crane my neck to glare at him, though it's difficult with Alex sitting directly on my chest, cross-legged. He's leaning back into the cushions casually, playing a game on his phone.

"Y'know, the sofa is probably more comfortable," Herc says to Alex, who shrugs.

"They're both the same."

 _Good to know I'm comfortable and squishy_. "It's not the same," I say, straining my voice for emphasis. "Alex, get off."

"HERCULEEEEES!" John screams from the kitchen (he's on his seventh piece of bacon). He starts clapping and dancing around. "HERCULES, HERCULES, HERCULES, HERCULES-"

"Did-you-take-your-meds-on-this-fine-Saturday-morning?" Herc claps back, bouncing exaggeratedly on his toes.

John shoots him a glare. "Yes, _doctor_."

"In case you haven't noticed," Alex adds, getting to his feet and stretching, "John is hungry."

I tally up John's breakfast in my head: Two full cups of coffee, five slices of toast, and most of the bacon from breakfast. And my envisioned peanut butter oatmeal.

Herc tilts his head. "And?"

" _Aaaaaand_ he's hungrier than usual whenever he's on medication."

Herc looks skeptical. "ADD shouldn't make you-"

John cuts him off. "You notice whether I'm on my meds or not?" His expression is confusion, shock, and satisfaction all rolled into one.

Alex meets his gaze. "Yeah. I can always tell."

John chuckles. "Huh."

"Through what, your deduction skills?" Herc does jazz hands. "Alex, you watch too much _Sherlock_."

"And _The Office_ ," I cut in. "And _Parks and Recreation_. And _Merlin_. Honestly _mon ami,_ you're a psychopath."

"High-functioning sociopath," Alex mutters. "And you forgot _Supernatural_."

~~~

 ** _Silent showers_**

 ** _rock._**

 ** _The steam settling like_**

 ** _a warm blanket,_**

 ** _a heated towel hanging over the door._**

 ** _I always_**

 ** _drop_**

 ** _perfume on the ground_**

 ** _and the room_**

 ** _fills with sandalwood scented_**

 ** _steam._**

 ** _Anxiety and the residue of_**

 ** _nightmares_**

 ** _like to go_**

 ** _d_**

 ** _o_**

 ** _w_**

 ** _n_**

 ** _t_**

 ** _h_**

 ** _e_**

 ** _d_**

 ** _r_**

 ** _a_**

 ** _i_**

 ** _n_**

 ** _with all the suds._**

 ** _I'm in there for a solid half hour._**

 ** _Don't get me wrong,_**

 ** _I'm doing stuff._**

 ** _"I CAN'T SEE PAST MY OWN NOSE, I'M SEEING EVERYTHING IN SLOOO-MO LOOKOUT BELOW CRASHINGDOWNTOTHEGROUND-"_**

 ** _This'll be entertaining._**

 ** _I like to record myself_**

 ** _singing without noise._**

 ** _When I turn off the water, I'm thoroughly scrubbed and more than slightly scalded._**

 ** _My fingers are_** **itching _to draw something._**

~~~

"Okay, we need to go out for lunch," John says randomly. Finally satisfied with breakfast, he's sprawled on the floor. "Laf, it's Saturday."

I give him a look. "What's your point?"

"Get outside! See the world!"

"Climb the highest of mountains and punch the sky," Alex says sarcastically. "We should get food, though. What about takeout?"

"What, like real Mexican food from Chipotle?" Herc stretches, pushing his beanie off his brow. "Laf, where does Jefferson work again?"

" _The Monticello_. I can call him…"

Alex scowls. "I'd prefer Chipotle."

I glare at him. "Just because he works there doesn't make it a bad restaurant."

"Alright, let's go to _Denny's_ then," I snap, knowing that will piss him off further- Alex hates Denny's. "No one goes to Denny's," he told me once. "You end up at Denny's in sad defeat."

"Then I want the Monti-cheeseburger."

"Great," John says. "Laf, you're driving."

"Pardon?"

John blinks. "You're. Driving."

"Um, no. I _fed_ you guys this morning."

" _We_ all drove twenty minutes to be here in your presence."

 _Merde._

 _"Fiiiiiiiiine_ ," I groan. "But move your car first before I run it over."

~~~

 ** _When I come downstairs, the sisters are arguing about something._**

 ** _Again._**

"I like _The Monticello_ ," **_Eliza says, arms crossed_**. "The food's good, and I can call Thomas. He always treats me well."

"He _like_ you, Eliza. Haven't you noticed he gives you _all_ your coffee for free?"

 ** _Eliza scowls_**. "You know, it's a very real possibility that he's just being friendly. He knows I have a boyfriend."

 **Angelica rolls her eyes**. "Yeah. Alex hates Jefferson. It pisses him off that- Oh, hey Peg."

 ** _About time. "_ Monticello _is good. Their spicy fries are-" jazz hands- "stellar."_**

"To you, all fries are-" **_jazz hands-_** "stellar."

 ** _"No, I just like the word-" jazz hands- "stellar. We don't use the word-" jazz hands- "stellar enough."_**

"So who's getting the food?" **_Eliza interrupts my_ (jazz hands) stellar _moment. She addresses the question to the_ _wall, not_** **_making eye contact._** ** _I do the same._**

"Nose goes."

 ** _Both my sisters make pig noses at me._**

"Pe-eg," **_Angelica sing-songs._**

 ** _"I can't drive unless a parent or guardian who is twenty-one or older accompanies me," I say quickly._**

"Nice try. You got your license over the summer."

 ** _"And I legally cannot drive anyone around New York City-"_**

"Unless the passenger is of your immediate family," **_Angelica finishes, smirking._**

 ** _"But I was planning to draw-"_**

"Nope. You're driving, and I'm coming with you."

 ** _"Eliza, are you-"_**

 ** _She raises her hands in defense._** "I'm not going in a car driven by you. _Please_ listen to Angie."

"Have I ever steered you wrong?" **_Angie winks at me._**

 ** _"No car puns before I get on the road. I'm driving slow, and safe."_**

~ ** _Twenty minutes later_** ~

"PEGGY!"

 ** _"AHHHHHH!"_**


	6. Chapter 6

**D** **isclaimer: I have literally no idea what this chapter is. It's kind of stupid and...yeah. If you don't like it, so be it. Hamilton isn't mine and thank God for that because I am exhausted. Also, the _Italian Job_ is a fantastic movie and y'all should watch it.**

"IF WE DIE I WILL DESTROY YOU!"

" ** _YOU'LL HAVE TO FIND WHAT'S LEFT OF ME FIRST!"_**

 ** _Swerve_**

 ** _Left_**

 ** _Blinker_**

 ** _*Chimmmme*_**

"You can't go across three lanes like that!"

 ** _HONNNNNK_**

"PEGGY!"

 ** _"SHUT UP!"_**

 ** _Turn left-_**

 ** _Right-_**

 ** _Ugghhh._**

 ** _*Chimmmme*_**

 ** _Come on, brain._**

 ** _Why'd you have to focus on it?_**

 ** _Now I can't listen to anything else._**

"Aaaaaand you've missed the exit." **_Angelica slumps in her seat._**

"Rerouting. You are on the faste-"

 ** _"Be quiet, GPS Lady. I know."_**

"-each your destination by: One. Fifty-eight. P.M."

"Fifteen minutes?!"

 ** _"Yeah, we're getting on the Triboro."_**

 ** _She groans._** "Peeeeeeg…"

 ** _"Who wanted me to drive? This is your fault-"_**

"LOOK OUT!"

 ** _My eyes widen. I jerk the steering wheel right and narrowly miss a gray minivan._**

 ** _Angelica clutches her seat belt desperately._** "Pull over."

 ** _"Wha-"_**

 ** _She turns her head slowly._** "Pull. Over."

 ** _Okay, fine._**

 ** _She visibly relaxes once my hands are off the wheel._**

"Where are your glasses?"

 ** _"They're_** **reading** **_glasses," I snap. "I don't need them for driving."_**

 ** _A sigh._**

"Are you sure about that?"

 ** _Sarcasm is dripping from her voice._**

 ** _Glance_**

 ** _She's twisting her rings again._**

 ** _This oughta be good._**

 ** _She only touches the rose gold metal when she's about to lose-_**

"MARGARITA RENÉE SCHUYLER YOU'D BETTER GET YOUR ASS IN GEAR I HAVE MADE EYE CONTACT WITH DEATH TOO MANY TIMES BECAUSE IF YOUR IMCOMPE-"

 ** _Made eye contact with death._**

 ** _My sister the drama queen._**

Apparently there are only three things one needs to know when driving: Stop at red lights, stay between the road lines, and don't press the gas and brake pedals at the same time because bad things will happen.

None of which apply to me.

For the most part I'm okay on the highway. The traffic is annoying but not extreme. Not like, say, Black Friday, when you want to stab your eyes out with a pencil. I mean, at least then people would clear the way for you.

The phone rings from my car. Without looking to see the caller, I press the _Accept_ button.

"You there yet?" Herc sounds tired.

I roll my eyes. He's clearly calling on John's behalf. "I left ten minutes ago, mon ami. Tell John to relax. What does he want?"

"Pulled pork sandwich, extra B.B.Q. and sweet potato fries. And I want-"

"Wait." My grip on the wheel tightens and I suck in a breath. "Okay, keep going."

"Triboro?"

I nod stiffly even though he can't see me. "Triboro."

Of all the bridges in New York City, the one I hate most is the Triboro Bridge. The traffic is terrible, the people are hyenas no matter what time of day it is, and there are _two_ potential bodies of water I could drown in.

Oh yeah, I should explain this more.

I have this irrational fear of driving over water from watching _The Italian Job_ for the first time. There's a scene in the movie where one guy betrays his friends and their car rolls over into the icy water and they only stay alive by using oxygen masks. Since that movie I've been afraid if driving over water. I feel like I'll hit or be hit by somebody so hard that I will somehow break physics and roll across however many lanes and fly right off the edge and drown in my car.

Which is another badge of irrational fear I earned from watching _i, Robot._

Speaking of robots, I also hate toll booths. Yeah, I have one of those pass things, but I still hate them. It's always a gamble when you pull up to a toll booth.

You either get someone who's really friendly and comes out with a smile and a "How _are_ you sweetie? That'll be _six dollars_ , hon. Have a _fabulous_ day!"

Or you get someone who's obviously bitter about the fact that their potential to be a famous actor is being wasted working a toll booth on the Triboro Bridge. And those people are some of the most degrading on the planet.

Today, I get one of those people. It's a woman, tall and skinny with a face that screams "I take lollipops from misbehaving children."

"Hold on," I tell Herc. "Toll booth."

He snorts. "Have fun with-"

"Sssssh."

I greet her with a smile. "Hello, how are you doing-"

"Cash."

I stare at her. "What?"

" _Cash_." She thrusts out a gnarled hand.

"Oh, I have a pa-"

"The scanner for your _pass_ isn't _working_ today," she spits. Her voice sounds like it's softly drowning in cheese graters.

Made of lemons. Green, awful, under ripe lemons.

Mrs. Softly-Drowning-in-Cheese-Graters-Made-of-Green-Under-Ripe-Lemons looks at me like I'm her worst enemy.

"Um… okay, let me get some money, it'll only take a sec-"

"Ya should've had it _ready_ when you pulled up to the booth."

God, lady. Stop cutting me off!

I find a few bills in the little tray thingy and hand them to her. She doesn't even count out my change before pounding the button to let me pass.

"Have a good day!" I scream behind me, and then to myself: "Lord have mercy on your soul. _Mon Dieu._ "

 ** _My ears feel like they're_**

 ** _full of water._**

 ** _I'm blocking out_**

 ** _everything she says._**

 ** _I can't do this much shouting._**

 ** _I sit through five minutes of silence until I reach_** ** _the toll booth before the Triboro._**

 ** _I need cash._**

 ** _Ocean down_**

"ad this much trouble with Eliza, but of course she"

 ** _"AHEM!"_**

 ** _She stops._**

 ** _Finally._**

 ** _"Are you done?"_**

 ** _Exhale._**

"Yeah."

 ** _"Good. I need money."_**

"What for?"

 ** _Wow. She was that worked up?_**

 ** _"The toll booth. I started driving again while you were screaming. These aids have adjustable volume, you know."_**

"And you didn't do that beforehand?"

 ** _"I wasn't gonna blatantly ignore you, but I drive better without sound."_**

"Oh."

 ** _She hands me a ten._**

 ** _The booth we end up in_**

 ** _is blocked by someone who's getting chewed out by the booth lady._**

 ** _She is screaming at the top of her lungs_**

 ** _in the roughest_**

 ** _most scratchy_**

 ** _chainsmoker voice_**

 ** _I have ever heard._**

 ** _Eventually the person gives her a crumpled bill and she presses the button inside to let the car by._**

 ** _When it's my turn to pull up, I do my best to be friendly._**

 ** _"Good afternoon, ma'am."_**

"Six dollars." **_She says it like a curse._**

 ** _I hold out the bill and she snatches it out of my hand, digging in her neon vest pocket for change._**

 ** _Crack._**

 ** _I wince. "Angie, really…"_**

"What?" **_She flexes her fingers._**

 ** _Crack. "You know I hate it when you do that."_**

"Pay attention," **_she says, nodding her head at the lady._**

 ** _She's glaring at me like she's mentally trying to turn me into ash, clutching four wrinkled bills._**

"Teenagers," ** _she snarls as she slams her fist on the button._**

 ** _I tear ahead without looking back._**

Keep calm, take a deep breath, and try not to die today.

I think I can do that.

The car inches forward slowly with the traffic like a giant metal caterpillar. That visual, of course, makes me snicker.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing. _Mon Dieu_ , the toll booth lady-"

"I heard." Herc sounds like he's trying not to laugh.

"She sounded like Roz from _Monsters Inc_ ," another voice chimes in. I hear muffled laughter in the background.

"Oh, yeah. Laf, you're on speakerphone."

" _I'm watching you, Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Wazowski_ ," John snarls in a dead-on impression. He coughs. "That hurt."

"Don't die," I banter, smiling at the center console. Then I make the mistake of looking at the road.

 _Merde_.

It's packed.

"Uh, guys? The bridge is backed up. A lot."

Someone who I can assume is Alex groans. "I'm _starving_."

"You ate two hours ago!" I say indignantly as I pull up to the person in front of me.

"Not for breakfast," he whines. "I need a burger."

I slump in my seat and sigh. "I'm being punished for something."

"Nah," Herc says. "It's just New York."

"And to be fair it is the afternoon on a Saturday," Alex chimes in.

I wait for John's opinion.

"Yeah, you screwed up."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, John."

"I try."

 ** _Inch_**

 ** _Inch_**

 ** _Inch_**

 ** _GAHHH_**

 ** _Angelica swears in French._**

"Is this some kind of sick joke?"

 ** _I sigh. "Am I being punished for something?"_**

"Maybe not you." **_Angie gazes out the window at the river below._** "I hit a squirrel the other day."

 ** _I swing my gaze upward._**

 ** _"Karma's a bitch, I guess."_**

 ** _She scowls at my choice of words._**

 ** _We move at a measly pace._**

 ** _The clock ticks minutes away._**

 ** _Seems like the more time goes by the more I want to scream-_**

"What's that?" **_My sister whips her head around so fast she pulls a muscle._** "Ow. Peg, do you hear that?"

 ** _I tick the ocean up_**

 ** _bit_**

 ** _by_**

 ** _bit_**

 ** _wee_**

 ** _weee_**

 ** _weeeeo_**

 ** _weeeeoooo_**

 ** _Weeeeoooooo_**

 ** _WEEEEEEEEOOOO_**

 ** _Car alarm?_**

 ** _No, it's too irregular._**

 ** _WEEEEEEEEEEEOOOO_**

 ** _Sirens._**

 ** _I realize how_**

 ** _e m p t y_**

 ** _the road has become._**

 ** _Actually, it's not empty._**

 ** _Everyone's pulled..._**

 ** _over…_**

 ** _And we're in the middle of the road…_**

 ** _Angelica hears the roaring engine before I do._**

 ** _She grabs the steering wheel and yanks it towards her._** "GET OUT OF THE WAY!"

 ** _My heart skips a beat when the car follows suit, jerking violently to the right. It rocks on the tires, swaying like a_**

 ** _boat on water_**

 ** _before settling down with a jolt._**

 ** _I only see the car after its zoomed past._**

 ** _Dark silver and gleaming._**

 ** _Tesla, I recognize the model._**

 ** _And going at 80 miles per hour._**

"Jesus Christ," **_Angelica says, hand over her heart._**

"They'd better get caught."

I'm pulled over and freaking out.

Right up against the side of the bridge, every rock of the car feels like a death sentence.

My friends are screaming through the console.

"We're under attack! _We're under attack!"_

John wails like the sirens. "Wheeeeeeoooo, wheeeeeeoooo, whee-"

"LAF I JUST WANNA SAY," Herc screams dramatically, "THAT YOU'RE A GREAT FRIEND AND I LOVE YOU LIKE A BROTHER AND I HOPE THAT YOU WILL NEVER GIVE UP-"

" _Just relax Laf!"_ Alex has to yell over the other two. " _Take a deep breath-"_

"There is a _literal_ car chase going on, and you want me to relax?"

"There's a car chase?" John stops wailing. "Hey, it _is_ like _The Italian Job_!"

"Oh that makes me feel better," I say sarcastically. "The driver swerved _this_ close- hang on, my seatbelt."

The thing is digging into my chest. I unbuckle it and then realize my stupidity.

My seatbelt does this thing where I can't unlatch it unless I open the car door, get out of the car, pull out however much of the belt I need, and then get back inside.

I groan and open my car door to-

NYOOOOOOOMMMMM

You know those moments where time slows down and any/everything bad that's going to happen, happens?

That's what it's like to have your car door taken off.

All I hear is the engine and the sirens before a gray blur disassembles the driver's side door. The "WHAM" sound of metal on metal follows half a second later and actually has a bigger influence on me than the impact.

Basically my life flashes before my eyes, my heart drops into my stomach then bounces up to my throat, and I scramble/jump/fall/ leap backwards into the passenger seat with a screechy yelp.

I kind of lie stretched across the car, half sitting up and shaking. My heart is beating so fast it hurts.

"What the _hell_ just happened?" Herc's voice sort of brings me back. "Laf? _Laf_? You okay?"

You know those stories of people lying in their own blood and not reacting in a panicked way whatsoever? I get it now.

Shock is one hell of a drug.

I know I'm supposed to respond. I just can't.

"Do you think he's dead?" John asks, his growing anxiety emphasizing every word. "This is my fault, I told him to drive, oh god if he's dead then this is on me. Oh god oh god oh Jesus-"

"John, calm down. I don't think he's dead." Alex, as usual, is the peacemaker. "Laf." It's not a question this time. It's a prompt. _Laf, snap out of it._

I swallow. " _Jesuiaccor_ -" Wrong language. "Imkaguyz." My own mouth feels foreign to me. "I'm alive, I promise. I just-"

"What? Are you hurt?" Alex's voice is strangely calm. John whimpers in the background.

"No, not physically. But you might want to cook something for lunch. I'm not going anywhere for awhile."

 **Author's Note: Yeah, this seems pretty plot device-y, but I'll be posting a little exposition chapter soon. Nothing too big, just to clear up some stuff. And I'll just remind you now- Laf and Peggy aren't complete strangers. They've vaguely known each other before this and have kind of simple, kind of shallow crushes on each other.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I'm bumping the rating up to Teen because there will most likely be some heavier swearing in the future and I'm not taking chances. Also I'm not the owner of Hamilton, let's get right to the chapter.**

I sit in the backseat, clutching my knees to my chest. Red curls drape over my tightly woven fingers, faded since I last dyed my hair. Making myself small is a talent I learned from my mother. "If you try hard enough, you can become invisible in any bad situation, _hija_ ," she told me with a smile.

Okay, mom. Sure.

I glance at Susannah from the corner of my eye. My older sister sits with her legs crossed tightly, staring out the window as if she could shatter it and escape. Her fists are clenched in her lap. Red streaks trail from her eyes, gray beneath her lashes where the mascara came off.

James grips the wheel like he's trying to crush it between his fingers. I know he's just trying to keep them from shaking. The unwanted side effect of a hangover is like a car alarm to policemen who know what to look for. If it weren't for the shaking, he could get away with being drunk all the time. Even after noon he's still stuck in Happy Hour.

I slowly crane my neck to see the speedometer tick past seventy-five, seventy-seven, eighty. I can almost hear the coroner's voice, see my body drained of blood and lying on a pedestal.

Cold and lifeless.

James' eyes flick to the rear view mirror, making eye contact. My eyes play laser tag with his in the reflection and I sink back into the seat.

Spanish prayers run through my head as I reach inside my shirt and grasp the cross hanging there. _Santa María, Madre de Dios, ruega por nosotros…_

Mama says she named me after _María_ so I would feel protected. Of course, I grew up hearing it pronounced "Ma-ri-uh" and not "Ma-ree-uh" by everyone but my mother. The accented _i_ , it seemed, threw people off.

Alexander told me once that the former sounded "prettier" to him, so I stopped correcting people after that. I dropped the accent over the _i_ and haven't changed it since. Besides, it got annoying.

A sudden jerk makes the seat belt cut into my ribs. I gasp and James' head whips around. "Didn't I tell you to be quiet?"

 _The asshole is strong in this one,_ I think to myself. "Sorry, James." My voice comes out as a whisper. It's not a valid reason for him to get mad and it's _just_ irritating enough to warrant a reaction.

"What?"

"She's sorry." Susannah answers for me. Her voice wavers when she speaks. From fear or her crying, I don't know.

"Damn right she's sorry," he murmurs under his breath, as if there's venom on his tongue. He always tries to not let us hear what he really wants to say.

 _Don't know who you're trying to fool, James._

I press my face against the window. There's a toll booth up ahead, sun shining off the cars lined up behind it. Immediately, fantasies of opening the door, kicking James in the head, and sprinting across the roads to freedom flash before my eyes.

He honks at someone as he slows the car and mutters a stream of curses.

James has different words for different situations. Road Rage is different than Vodka and Cigarettes, which is different from the Girls Are Pissing Me Off, which is similar to I Hurt Myself in Some Infinitesimal Way but is not even remotely close to Can't Get The Keys In the Door Because My Hands Are Shaking From Nicotine Withdrawal.

"Do either of you have cash?" James turns around (a full-body-eyes-off-the-road turn, I might add) and scowls when we shake our heads.

"Um… you have a pass," I say, nodding my head towards the little white box on the windshield.

James stares at me blankly. "Right."

Which means the moment he snaps into focus and turns back to the road he also slams his foot into the gas pedal, making the car jolt forward violently. I bite my lip hard before another gasp escapes. _Oww. Son of a bitch._

We zoom through the toll booth… and get absolutely nowhere. It's backed up beyond the horizon.

James curses again.

Family fun, amiright?

~~~

We haven't moved for at least ten minutes. Susannah is playing a game on her phone, judging by her finger movements. The phone is in silent mode so not to set James off.

I'm toying with a strand of my hair, twirling and fraying the scarlet ends between my fingers, when the car picks up speed.

And keeps picking up speed.

 _Oh, Jesus._

A series of honks erupts from around us. I lift my head to look at the road.

 _Wait, what?_

I blink hard and wait for my eyes to refocus.

The entire bridge is cleared to one side. Every car is pulled over, all the way down.

We zoom past them. James is completely still, his eyes staring straight forward as if he's trying to vaporize the road.

"How fast are you going?" My sister's voice is masking panic. "You have to slow-"

"We're fine," James says curtly. "Don't you worry." Less of a reassurance and more of a command.

I don't know if he's lying to himself or to us, but he's blatantly wrong. We're too fast on the bridge to be safe.

 _Wheeooooo, woowwwweeeeeooo, woooowowwwwweooo…_

"Well isn't that something," James says in a falsely positive voice that's dripping in sarcasm. "The cops are here, for the safety of us all."

I stare out the window. _What does he know about safety, anyway?_

"Say that again."

I shift my gaze. James is glaring at me, turned completely around.

My breath catches. _I said that out loud._

 _Shit._

I take a deep breath and look James straight in the eye. My hands are shaking, so I clench them into fists.

"I said," I repeat, "You know nothing about safety. Look at you, hungover, driving down the highway at-" I lean past him to see the speedometer- "eighty-two miles an hour, not even paying attention to the freaking road. You're a _hot mess_." I'm can hear my voice getting louder.

 _Wowoowowoowowoowowoo_

The look on James' face could melt ice cream.

Man, I want ice cream.

"Shut the hell up," he says through clenched teeth. "You…"

I know what he wants to say, and I cut him off. "Slut? _Whore?_ I'm way ahead of you." My voice is wobbling, either from anger or fear. _Ugh, I hate when it does that_. "Y-you think you can get-t away with anything when Mom isn't around, but I s-see right through you, James Reynolds."

I've been planning my next words for a long time.

That sounded dramatic.

I've been planning my next words for three minutes.

"You. _Repel_. Me."

Something flashes in James' eyes.

Hurt.

 _Insert explosion noises._

 _Give me my Oscar._

 _I'd like to thank Benedict Cumberbatch for his delivery of that line in Series Two, Episode Three of BBC's_ Sherlock-

WHAM.

A screech escapes my throat. James swears loudly. "What the-"

A sheet of metal is flung from the front of the car. James swerves and Susannah screams.

 _WHOOOOOWOWWWEEEOOOOO-_

"FIND A PLACE TO PULL OVER," Susannah shrieks to no one in particular. She's a bit hysterical. " _¡¿PODRÍAS SER MÁS UN IDIOTA IMPRUDENTE?!_ "

 _Jesus Christ_.

Despite James' Spanish being at a sixth grade level, he understands enough to be insulted. "DON'T YOU START, SUSANNAH!"

" _VETE A LA MIERDA!_ "

"THAT'S ENOUGH! I AM TAKING VALUABLE TIME OUT OF _MY_ BUSY SCHEDULE TO TAKE _YOUR_ TWO _UNGRATEFUL-_ "

" _WILL YOU BOTH STOP SCREAMING?!"_

Silence. They stare at me.

"Pull over."

This time, he actually does. Apparently I am now worthy of his attention.

 _Inhale._

"I am _sick,_ " I begin, "of you two shrieking at the top of your lungs like you _aren't_ in a public environment. And don't you dare say a word, James," I add at his scowl. "We're on a road. It's _public._ Either listen or drive like you're supposed to. We can at least _pretend_ like we're a family." I address James. "The _minute_ we're off this bridge, you're going to pull over and get your shit together-"

I pause mid-sentence and realize something.

We _are_ off the bridge.

 _And_ we're pulled over.

And there are two police cruisers parked across the street, no cops in sight.

" _Are you freaking kidding me-_ "

"Sir?" An officer appears out of nowhere next to the window.

The sight of him sends a chill down my spine.

 _Not again._

"Sir?" He speaks firmly. "Please get out of the vehicle."

 ***inhale***

 **I'M REALLY REALLY SORRY I DIDN'T GET A CHAPTER OUT LIKE TWO WEEKS AGO WHEN I WAS SUPPOSED TO BECAUSE I WAS BUSY WITH A MUSICAL THE ENTIRE MONTH OF MARCH AND THE FIRST WEEK OF APRIL AND I ALSO HAD A LOT OF SCHOOLWORK TO CATCH UP ON BECAUSE OF MY SCHEDULE CHANGE AND I'LL HAVE A NEW CHAPTER OUT AS FAST AS HUMANLY POSSIBLEEEEEE *exhale***

 **But I really hope you liked it. Fun fact- Maria did have a half-sister named Susannah. I made her Hispanic just for fun.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hamilton, and thank God because I would do it injustice. (Also I saw it a few weeks ago and I'm still floating on air)**

~~~

 ** _Warmth_**

 ** _Golden light_**

 ** _A soft blanket over me_**

 ** _A sense of relief_**

 ** _Calm_**

 ** _Like a_**

 ** _LaPpInG sEa_**

 ** _JERK._**

 ** _Panic_**

 ** _briefly clenches my_**

 ** _chest._**

 ** _I open my eyes_**

 ** _BRIGHT_**

 ** _BLINDING_**

 ** _Ugh, Jesus!_**

 ** _Click click click click_**

"Yeah, I'm looking at you! Scoot scoot, you moron!"

 ** _The hell-_**

 ** _"Angie, what are you doing?"_**

"Driving ** _," she answers with a stoic expression._**

 ** _"Like a maniac," I say indignantly._**

"Look who's talking. We're almost here."

 ** _We are._**

 ** _Huh._**

 ** _"How long was I asleep?"_**

"Like, thirty-five minutes? I made a wrong turn at one point."

 ** _"I don't get it. I slept in this morning."_**

"Clearly not enough."

~~~

 _Rouge, bleu fonce, noir, noir, gris, blanche, jaune, noir, bleu clair_ -

"You a'ight, man?"

I jump and pull my attention away from the road. I hear more cars zoom by and resist the urge to check the colors off in my head.

"Oh, um... yeah," I stammer.

The tow truck guy gives me a skeptical look before turning his eyes back to the road. I take a deep breath and my eyes drift back to the window.

"I ain't never seen that happen before."

"Hmm?"

"Been workin' this job for fourteen years," he says, "And I've never had to tow a truck without just a car door."

"Didn't think I'd earn a…" _Come on, brain._ "Super...thing. Whatever it's called."

The man smirks. "Superlative?"

"Yeah, that." Heat builds in my cheeks.

"Must be a special day then, _amigo_."

 _What an understatement._

"Yeah, well. Saturdays."

"You're having one hell of a Saturday."

~~~

 **The Monticello** ** _is grander than it looks_**

 ** _Pillars hold up the sloped awning_**

 ** _The glass double doors shimmer in the afternoon sun like_**

 ** _crystal_**

 ** _and it takes up the entire corner_**

 ** _of the street._**

 ** _I think it's modeled after_**

 ** _some fancy monument in_**

 ** _D.C._**

 ** _I don't care enough to find out._**

 ** _Angie holds the door_**

 ** _open_**

 ** _for me_**

 ** _as is our custom._**

 ** _Quote: "You don't have a boyfriend, I'm holding that door open for you."_**

 ** _En quote._**

 ** _I get blasted by two things when I step inside:_**

 ** _One_**

 ** _The air conditioning, which always runs at the coldest temperature possible, and_**

 ** _Two_**

 ** _The presence of Thomas, who gives me a side-hug and messes with my hair._**

 ** _Every time._**

"Hello, hello, hello, Peggy Schuyler, ** _" he says down to me. "_** How's the weather down there?"

 ** _He lets go and crosses to Angie in one smooth motion. "_** And the lovely Angelica Schuyler. How is the _mademoiselle_?"

 ** _My sister only rolls her eyes. "_** Hello, Jefferson."

 ** _They resemble each other to the point where it's almost creepy to see Thomas flirting with her._**

 ** _The same espresso skin_**

 ** _Tar-black curls that would curl perfectly around my finger_**

 ** _And way too much confidence._**

"How's Madison?"

 ** _"Yeah, how's your boyfriend, Thomas?"_**

 ** _Thomas gives me a look. "_** My _best_ friend is doing fine. He had the flu."

 ** _Angie snorts. "_** He's always sick. Did you wrap him in blankets and make chicken soup?"

 ** _He scowls. "_** Do y'all want a seat or not?

~~~

The dealership place smells like gasoline, wood smoke, and empty promises. I mean, I can just _smell_ the manliness.

I'm sitting on one of those table benches, trying to stick my fingers through the diamond-shaped holes in the table.

"Do you have insurance on the car, sir?"

"Oh, uhhhhh…" It takes me awhile to turn around and register my thoughts. "I… think I do. Let me check with my parents."

The word "parents" is a loose term. I almost never see George (his job is centered primarily in D.C) and Martha comes over bi-monthly, mostly to make sure I haven't burnt the place down.

Even "foster parents" is too broad. They're more like tenants.

Who also pay the bills and will until I turn eighteen and get a real job.

Speaking of which…

"Shouldn't you have my information?" I pull my wallet out of my back pocket (Black leather, completely normal except for the silver sparkly fleur-de-lis that ruins the 'classy french masculine' vibe I was going for) and pull out my driver's license.

The man takes the little card. As he's reading it, I watch his expression.

"You're only seventeen?"

" _Oui, monsi_ \- sir." _Wrong language._

"Jesus, man. I thought you were twenty."

 _I look twenty?_

"Nope. Seventeen."

The man frowns at me, as if he's concentrating on my face. "You sure 'bout that?"

 _Um, yes?_ "Um, yes?"

Still skeptical, he hands back the license. "You look like someone I know."

Of course I do. "Really?" I paste a fake smile on my face. "Who?"

"You wouldn't happen to know Thomas Jefferson, would you?"

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. _Everyone_ says we look alike, and I'm sick of it. Just because we do look similar doesn't mean they have to say it- every time.

"He works at _The Monticello_ a few blocks away. Tall muscular dude, early twenties, afro. Know 'im?"

"Uh huh- wait, _The Monticell_ o is down the street?"

"Yeah. Ten minute walk, maybe?"

 _Doux Jésus, hallelujah!_

 _So I can walk there, and pick up the food, and then call Alex and have him pick me up,_ wow _I'm starving-_

"Sir?"

I realize I'm smiling like a maniac. "Oh, um, I, uh- I have a friend that's, uh, meeting me at the, um- at _The_ _Monticello_ pretty soon, so…."

 _Note to self: Call Alex._

~~~

 ** _I_** **_breathe in the scent of_**

 ** _leather and spices_**

 ** _While I scan the menu._**

 ** _I've been here a lot,_**

 ** _but I always get something different._**

 ** _I'm trying to eat everything they have to offer._**

 ** _Sans the wine options, anyway._**

 ** _I yawn loudly and Angelica looks up from her menu. "_** What is your problem, Peg? You're so tired today."

 ** _Shrug. "Saturday vibes."_**

"Maybe it's your bed. You have a window in the corner."

 ** _Not again._**

 ** _"I'm not moving my bed, Angie," I say with a sigh._**

"Why not? Having your bed in the middle of your room is great! ** _" She ticks the reasons off on her fingers. "_** You can fit two nightstands, hang fairy lights, and it's literally the perfect setup for a dance sleepover montage."

 ** _"If those are your arguments, definitely not." I slam the menu down on the table and lean forward dramatically._**

 ** _"You can pry my corner bed out of my cold, dead hands."_**

 ** _She throws her hands up in defense. "_** Fine, fine. I'll secede for now."

 ** _"Or you could succumb to the dark side and join the Corner Bed Club."_**

"Any day now, sisters."

 ** _Thomas stands there impatiently,_**

 ** _t-a-p-p-i-n-g his foot._**

"What new thing are you ordering today, Peg?"

 ** _The plantains here are fantastic. I'll trip him up._**

 ** _"Definitely the plantains."_**

 ** _He looks surprised, but_**

 ** _scribbles the order on his notepad._**

"Angie? _Qu'est-ce que tu veux manger?_ "

 ** _Trrrriiiiillllllllllllll_**

 ** _Thomas directs his attention to the entrance. "Someone get that!"_**

 ** _Angelica snickers. "_** Real professional, Jefferson."

"Shut up, Schuyler. ** _" He waits silently for a few seconds, then groans loudly._**

 ** _"I'll be right back."_**

" _Tout en suite!_ ** _" My sister_**

 ** _*snaps*_**

 ** _her fingers to emphasize her point._**

 ** _We wait_**

 ** _As he greets the newcomer._**

 ** _My sister leans out of her seat_**

 ** _to see who it is._**

 ** _Her eyes narrow, then w i d e n,_**

 ** _then_**

 ** _sparkle?_**

"Pegggg," **_she sing-songs._**

"Your boyfriend's here."

 ** _"I don't have a-"_**

 ** _Oh._**

 **Oh.**

 ** _Thomas comes back, his supressed giddiness evident on his face._**

"You won't believe who showed up!"

~~~

 **Author's Note: This is oddly specific, but anyone who's lived in Queens might know that there's a restaurant on the corner of Baisley Boulevard in St. Albans called "The Door" that serves Jamaican food. I'm half Jamaican so I loved the restaurant as a kid (I still love it) and thought I'd pay homage to it. Realistically the drive to St. Albans from Manhattan (where I'm basing the characters) is around an hour and a half, so I changed up some details. Basically it was the inspiration for the Monticello.** **Speaking of which, Thomas is around twenty or twenty-one and has graduated high school. He works at the restaurant essentially for pocket money and attends NYU on a scholarship. More on that soon.**


	9. Chapter 9

You've got to be kidding me.

How the _hell_ is this possible?

"I'll get you some silverware and stuff," Thomas says with a nod towards the kitchen.

"No, I'm not-I'm just picking up-"

He's gone before I finish, leaving me standing awkwardly next to the booth.

Um… where do I sit? Across from her, so I can talk to her face? Next to her, so she knows I like her?

I must be a frozen mess, because Angelica pats the space next to her. "Here, Laf."

 _Whew_. I gratefully slide in next to her.

"Hi, guys," I say awkwardly. Then, before I can stop myself: "How goes it?"

 _I just said that out loud._

Peggy laughs quietly. "It goes okay," she replies in that melodic voice of hers. " _Et toi?_ "

Two words, yet her accent is flawless."I thought you didn't speak French."

Her cheeks, ever so slightly, go pink, but she still touches her cheek. "I… didn't."

Then she winks- not at me, but at her sister. I try not to smirk.

"I'm doing fine, I gue…" I trail off as I remember why I'm even here. "Actually… that's a lie. My life's kind of-" I mentally search for the English word- "hectic. Right now."

"Oh?" Angelica tilts her head. "How so?"

I take a deep breath. "Were you on the bridge today?"

 ** _The leather seat_**

 ** _The saltshaker_**

 ** _The curl over my sister's ear_**

 ** _My own chipped gold nails_**

 ** _The worn cuffs of his navy sweatshirt_**

 ** _My eyes are_**

 ** _Anywhere_**

 ** _But on his face_**

 ** _What else do I do?_**

 ** _I've never had a boyfriend_**

 ** _Or been on a date_**

 ** _I don't_ understand _the relationship process_**

 ** _Angie listens intently_**

 ** _As he talks about his car_**

 ** _I somehow hear everything he's saying_**

 ** _But none of it clicks_**

 ** _click_**

 ** _Click_**

 ** _CLick_**

 ** _CLIck_**

 ** _...chiiiiiiiiime..._**

It was… what's the word? Oh, insane. One minute I'm reaching for the handle and then the door just isn't there. Like _that_."

 ** _He snaps to emphasize_**

 ** _*S N A P*_**

 ** _I wince._**

 ** _CLick_**

 ** _Click_**

 ** _...iiiii..._**

"You saw that guy too? He almost knocked us off the bridge. Right, Peg?"

 ** _She kicks me under the table_**

 ** _I get a lifeline_**

 ** _"Yeah, it was scary."_**

 ** _A smile forms on her lips_**

 ** _It immediately calms my nerves._**

 ** _She notices_**

 ** _Winks_**

 ** _I keep talking_**

"See, I was the driver while we were on the bridge," she blurts, warming to the story. "So we're in the middle of the road, and suddenly it's completely cleared so naturally I'm like 'what's happening' and then Angie grabs the steering wheel and yanks it to the right and we get out of the way of the Tesla but we end up basically teetering on the wheels for a good five seconds-" she rocks her hand back and forth to demonstrate- "until we settle down and Angie kinda freaked out after that."

Wow.

I feel like I need to breathe for her.

"I did _not_ freak out," Angelica says indignantly.

Peggy gives her a look as she pulls out her ponytail, pushing a part of her hair over her face.

"Your plantains, Mademoiselle Margarita Reneé Van Rensselaer," Thomas announces with a grand gesture as he sets a bag on the table, rolling the _r_ in "Rensselaer."

I raise an eyebrow, and out of the corner of my eye I hear Peggy inhale sharply. I look over and see that her posture has completely changed.

"Thanks, Thomas," she whispers to the plate. Her eyes are glassy, and she's sitting stick straight.

Thomas just stares at her, puzzled. _What are you getting?_ he mouths to me. _Not right now_ I mouth back. He shoots me a worried look as he leaves.

The moment he's out of view, she slumps in her seat and closes her eyes, breathing shakily.

"What's wrong?" Angelica slides back into the booth, eyes only on her sister. "Peg?"

Peggy doesn't respond.

She goes around and sits next to her."What happened, Laf?"

"I don't know," I say slowly. "Thomas said her name, and-"

"Her full name?"

"I…I think so, and-"

Angelica's copper eyes flash. "I'm going to murder him," she hisses under her breath.

She wraps her arm around Peggy's shoulder. "You're okay, Peg. She's not here anymore."

 _She?_

"Who are you talking about?"

Angelica glares at me. "Nobody. None of your business."

"You can tell him, Angie," Peggy says quietly. Her expression is shadowed by her hair. "I don't care."

"But-"

"It's _fine_."

Angelica exhales slowly and squeezes her eyes shut.

"Catherine Hollister Reneé Van Rensselaer. Our mother's name."

 ** _I'm six_**

 ** _Scribbling on tax papers_**

 ** _With purple crayons_**

 ** _Papa runs over and picks me up_**

 ** _Crumpling the form between his fingers_**

 ** _"Don't let your mother see that."_**

 ** _I'm nine_**

 ** _T-a-p-d-a-n-c-i-n-g_**

 ** _for a talent show_**

 ** _Shu-ffle ball-change, arms swinging_**

 ** _I bow_**

 ** _The audience claps_**

 ** _My father stands_**

 ** _Cheers_**

 ** _My sisters wave_**

 ** _My mother is seated_**

 ** _Lips a thin crimson slash_**

 ** _"I wanted her to do softball."_**

 ** _I'm home_**

 ** _My back pressed to the door_**

 ** _Screaming rolls through my ears_**

 ** _"You have my name, you are my daughters, you will obey"_**

 ** _"I'm changing it the moment I'm old enough"_**

 ** _"Stupid girl, selfish girl"_**

 ** _"Don't you dare hurt my sisters"_**

 ** _Flashes of cold nights hot with anger_**

 ** _Soft palms with hard intentions_**

 ** _Pale fingers with dark nails_**

 ** _Angelica Catherine_**

 ** _Elizabeth Hollister_**

 ** _Margarita Reneé_**

 ** _She's branded her memory_**

 ** _In our names_**

 ** _Our first are our father's choices_**

 ** _Our second belong to her_**

 ** _It's a part of me_**

 ** _I want to tear away_**

 ** _The only part_**

 ** _I can erase_**

"She left when I was eleven," Angelica explains. "Married Papa for his money-her family was going bankrupt. After Eliza was born, she wanted a boy. A lot."

"She got me instead," Peggy says quietly. I can hear a tremor in her voice. "My name was supposed to be John, after her father."

"She probably shouldn't have had kids in the first place," Angelica says dryly, "but she didn't like Peggy the most."

"The feeling was mutual," Peggy mutters.

I snort. Angelica gives me a look.

"Sorry, it's not funny. Go ahead."

"Anyway. She was…" Angie hesitates. "Not abusive, but… harsh, I guess."

"Cruel?"

She nods. "That's the word. Cruel. Like an evil stepmother who wasn't our stepmother."

I just stare at her. Three years. How have I never known about this?

"What about your father?" I ask, watching her fingers draw figure eights on the table. "Where is he?"

"Papa's in the Air Force," she says with a sigh. "He got called back in. We thought he was finished, but..."

"Why do you still call him 'Papa'?"

Peggy speaks up, her voice quiet and steady. "It's from the NATO phonetic alphabet," she explains.

"Angie!" Thomas yells from the kitchen. "Help me with this!"

"Be right back." Angie slips out of the booth without another word.

Peggy continues. "Anyway, P is for 'Papa.' I actually..." She blushes. "I know the whole thing by heart."

I can't help but smile. "Shoot."

 ** _"Angie's the oldest, so he calls her-"_**

 ** _Alpha_**

 ** _Bravo_**

 ** _Charlie_**

 ** _Delta_**

 ** _"Eliza looks the most like him, and she has his baking skills, so she's his-"_**

 ** _Echo_**

 ** _Foxtrot_**

 ** _Golf_**

 ** _"shirts whenever he had to be somewhere-"_**

 ** _Hotel_**

 ** _India_**

 ** _"he wanted to call our mom-"_**

 ** _Juliett_**

 ** _Kilo_**

 ** _Lima_**

 ** _Mike_**

 ** _November_**

 ** _"20th is his birthday"_**

 ** _Oscar_**

 ** _Papa_**

 ** _Quebec_**

 ** _Romeo_**

 ** _Sierra_**

 ** _Tango_**

 ** _"his navy blue-"_**

 ** _Uniform_**

 ** _Victor_**

 ** _X-ray_**

 ** _Yankees_**

 ** _"baseball cap all the time-"_**

 ** _"And I didn't want him to call me Mike, so I went with-"_**

 ** _Zulu._**

She exhales, pulling her breathing back to normal, and folds her hands.

 _Mon Dieu_. "Do you miss him?"

Her eyes flick up and then down, and I realize she's trying not to cry. "A lot," she whispers. I hear a pop pop and realize she's gripping her hands so hard the knuckles have cracked. There's a slight tremor in her fingers.

"Hey," I say softly. "It's okay." I reach out and place my hand over hers, rubbing my thumb over the base of her wrist. "I know how you feel." I swallow hard. "I… um… I miss my parents too."

Her eyes meet mine. "Are they dead?"

"Yeah." I feel myself getting emotional and take a deep breath.

"I'm just… scared," she says slowly. "That he's never coming back again."

I give her a reassuring smile. "He'll come back for you. And your sisters. I promise."

I feel her fingers stop trembling.

"Thank you, Laf," she says softly. "That helps. I'm… not much of a talker."

That's _a shocker_. "Wait, for serious? I never would have guessed-"

"Am I missing something?"

We both jump at the sound of Angelica's voice. Peggy's cheeks go pink, which I interpret as her blushing furiously.

"Y'all are so sappy," Thomas drawls from behind a large paper bag.

I let go of Peggy's hand. "Shut up, Thomas."

"We were just talking," Peggy says quickly.

Angie makes a noise in the back of her throat. "Sister not pleased."

"Sister don't care," Peggy shoots back in a mocking tone.

 ** _Who is this girl_**

 ** _Who flirts without thinking_**

 ** _Who throws her emotions around_**

 ** _Tossing them off the safety of her shipwrecked mind_**

 ** _With a quick tongue and slow sentences_**

 ** _I think I like her._**

~~~

 **Disclaimer's going at the bottom now. I don't own Hamilton.**


End file.
